Ghosts

TEN

Michael and Layla walked through the hallways of the Hive in silence. She didn’t ask where they were going, and he didn’t tell her. They passed through the wing where most of the upper-deckers lived. Intricate drawings marked the floor and the bulkheads, providing a glimpse into the lives of those who had lived here over the centuries.

Utility pipes snaked along the ceiling, carrying helium, water, and sewage. Ahead, an engineer stood on a ladder, working to seal a leaking joint in a red helium pipe. Michael nodded at him as they passed underneath.

Open hatches allowed a glimpse into life on the Hive. Inside the first quarters, a stained couch missing all but one of its pillows was nestled against a wall. Deborah, a staffer who worked on the bridge, sat on it reading a book with no front cover. She looked up and smiled at them. Layla waved back.

Next was the room where Michael had spent many of his younger years. Layla picked up her pace as they neared the hatch marked with a drawing of the sun.

“You don’t want to stop?” Michael asked.

“For what?”

He shrugged even though he wanted to encourage her to stop. Ever since her parents died, she had avoided this place. She didn’t even look at the smiling yellow sun that she had drawn when she was a little girl.

They had reached an understanding that certain areas of the ship were no-go zones. For Michael, it was the farm. That place triggered too many painful memories. The sight of the room Layla had grown up in was her trigger. She dropped Michael’s hand and hurried down the hall, clearly unhappy that he had brought her this way.

Ahead, a sign for the water treatment plant hung from the bulkhead. Layla waited for him at the junction. He jerked his chin to the right, and they continued past two militia soldiers guarding the upper-decker wing. Two more stood outside the entrance to the plant.

Michael kept moving. They were almost there. He felt for the sealed envelope in his pocket and tried not to think about anything but what he needed to do.

Raised voices echoed down the hall as they approached the trading post. Several civilians loitered in the open space outside. A thin man with a sharp jawline and a shaved head approached Layla. He wore a brown coat, and black trousers that were two sizes too big.

“Not interested,” she said.

He looked to Michael, but then scurried away when two militia soldiers approached.

“You at it again, Jake?” one of the guards said. “I told you, you can’t loiter here.”

The man held up his hands and grinned. “What? I didn’t do nothin’.”

Michael kept walking, through the throng of people filing out of a hatch at the end of the hall.

“When are you planning to tell me where we’re headed?” Layla asked.

He glanced toward the entrance to the lower decks. She reared back.

“What the hell are we going down there for?”

A woman holding a basket of potatoes stopped beside them.

“Would either of you like to—”

“No,” Layla snapped.

She grabbed Michael’s arm and dragged him to the edge of the corridor.

“Tin, what’s going on with you? Why won’t you tell me anything?”

He ran his hand through his hair to comb it back out of his eyes. “Because I know you wouldn’t come if I told you.”

She traced a finger across his arm—a gentle movement. “You can always talk to me.”

“You said you trusted me.”

A nod. “I do, but we should really be with the other divers, monitoring the mission below.”

Michael pulled an envelope out of his pocket. She tilted her head to one side.

“Is that why we stopped in our room?”

He nodded.

“Well, what is it?”

“Something Captain Ash gave me before she died.” Michael felt the smooth paper. He had spent hundreds of hours staring at the envelope when Layla was sleeping, wondering what it contained. But he had kept his promise to the captain and never opened it.

Until now.

“Captain Ash said not to open it unless we heard a legitimate radio transmission from the surface.”

Layla’s forehead creased. “You’ve got me intrigued, but why are we going to the lower decks?”

“You keep saying you trust me, right?”

She nodded.

“Then follow me.”

It could have been a minute or an hour. All Magnolia knew was that she felt as if she had been hiding forever. She held her battery unit in her gloved hand. The warmth bled through the worn fabric. Her comms, night vision, and life-support systems were all down.

The other divers had come for her. She couldn’t believe that Captain Jordan would risk lives to save her sorry ass. She wasn’t going to make him regret that decision. It still didn’t explain who was trying to kill her, but it did seem to rule him out as a suspect.

She heard scuffling sounds. The vines were searching for her again.

Red lights throbbed around the entrance to her hiding spot. The light blossomed over the room like an expanding puddle of water. She squirmed farther under the concrete platform where she had taken shelter, careful to avoid the raw end of rebar sticking out from the edge of the slab.

The sound grew louder. There were two vines inside now. The shadow of a third wiggled across a concrete pillar.

A barbed end suddenly darted forward. Watching it move, she held the knife a little tighter. Pale red sap trailed from the thick vine, and gashes marked the stem where something had fed on it. Directly in front of her visor, the barb split open into four small mandibles.

Instinct took over. She snapped her battery pack back into its slot in her armor and jammed the knife into the open maw. The jaws clamped shut around the hilt, and she yanked her hand out just in time. The vine twisted away, the knife still stuck inside its mouth.

Magnolia left it behind and ran for the staircase. She halted when she saw the dozens of vines creeping blindly up the steps. The only other escape route was to jump, but she had tried that already. She would never clear the gap to the next tower, and the four-story drop would telescope her legs.

What the hell. She decided to take her chances with another leap of faith.

Her battery glowed a cool blue amid all that flashing red. Dozens of stems snaked into the room, surrounding her. She turned toward the open area where windows had once been, and for the first time, she could see more trees growing through the floors of the adjacent tower.

This was it: the moment when she must make a decision that would probably kill her anyway. A flashback to the cyclops beast convinced her there was only one option.

Magnolia crossed the room at a sprint, weaving around the stems that whipped through the air. One of them wrapped around her arm, jerking her to a halt. The mandibles clamped down on her wrist monitor. Glass crunched. The screen was destroyed, and her hand was about to be next. She used her other hand to pry the thing off, ripping the plant’s jaws away from the monitor and freeing herself.

In seconds, she was running again.

She bumped her chin comm. It didn’t matter if these things heard her now, assuming they could even hear at all.

“Weaver, do you copy? I’m at the glowing scrapers just west of the ocean. Trust me, you can’t miss ’em!”

Magnolia could see the inside of the next building clearly. The vegetation there was flashing pink. Pink seemed a slightly less dangerous shade than red. She slowed as she approached the edge. The vines writhed across the dusty floor.

She turned to face them and backed down the sloping floor until she was at the edge.

“Weaver,” she said. “I could use some help!”

“I’m on my way,” he said. “Just hold on.”

Magnolia took another step back and looked over her shoulder. It was too far to jump. She raised her arms and shielded her body as the vines whipped toward her.

A sparkle came from the west—a battery unit in the clouds. Then a canopy flying toward her at a low angle. And with that sight, an idea emerged in Magnolia’s mind.

Reaching behind her back, she hit her booster, hoping it hadn’t also been sabotaged. The balloon exploded out of its canister, and as it filled with helium, she turned and jumped into the air.

The booster pulled her into the sky just as the barbed mandibles reached up for her boots.

She glanced up to see Weaver threading between the two towers. He steered toward her and reached out.

“Grab on to me!” he yelled.

Magnolia opened her arms wide. She was above the ninth floor now and climbing slowly toward the storm clouds. Weaver swooped in, and she wrapped her legs around his waist.

“Hold tight, princess.”

“Don’t think that saving my life will get you out of paying me,” she said, her voice ragged as she tried to catch her breath.

“Still on the straight flush, are we?” Weaver let out a chuckle that was almost lost in the noise of the wind. He looked toward the buildings below. “You wanna tell me what happened in there?”

Magnolia shook her head. “Freaky-ass shit is what,” was all she said.

This time Weaver didn’t respond. He reached up with a blade toward the lines connected to her helium balloon.

“What are you doing?” she asked. “Why aren’t you punching your booster, too?”

A voice crackled over the comm before Weaver could reply to Magnolia.

“Angel One, this is Apollo One. Do you copy?”

“Roger that, Apollo One,” Weaver said. “I’ve got Magnolia, and we’re en route.”

“En route?” Magnolia said. She tightened her grip around Weaver.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “We haven’t met our mission objectives yet.”

“You didn’t come down here to save me, did you?” she asked.

In answer, he sliced through her booster lines. The balloon soared away into the sky while his chute carried them gently back toward the surface.

Secrets ran deep on the Hive, and the officers who kept those secrets did so with a sense of honor and duty. And yet, the burden ate at Jordan’s mind as he sat alone in his quarters, watching a classified video from the restricted archives.

He could picture Captain Ash vividly, her eyes glued to the screen, mesmerized by videos just like this one even as her own body was wasting away.

Jordan slipped on his headset and hit play. The deep, resonant voice of the narrator filled his earpiece.

“Industrial Tech Corporation, leading humanity into a bright future,” the voiceover said as an image of a bustling city appeared on-screen.

Scrapers with glass walls filled the skyline. Vehicles of all shapes and colors buzzed around the streets, and the sidewalks thronged with thousands of people dressed in the fashions of 260 years ago. Most of these people seemed to be speaking not to one another, but to small handheld devices. Jordan had seen one of these “smart phones” years ago. Captain Ash had kept it in her desk, but Jordan had given it, along with various other relics the captains before him had kept in the office, to Samson, to cannibalize for parts.

“The future has never been more exciting,” the narrator continued. “Advances in medicine and technology have allowed humans to live longer and better lives than ever before.”

The video feed was now of the countryside. A clear stream meandered through a thick forest. The collage of colors filled the screen. It seemed unreal that the world had ever been so vibrant and beautiful. A man and a woman strolled with their daughter on a stone path around a lake. Leaves drifted to the ground around them.

“Industrial Tech Corporation believes in a better future for all,” the narrator said. “We also believe in safeguarding your future in this time of unprecedented growth. That’s why we are taking steps to protect what we value most.”

The next section of the video was shot inside a huge warehouse. The Hive and several of her sister ships filled the space, resting on platforms that stood five stories high. Ladders and scaffolding surrounded the airships, and hundreds of workers in gray uniforms worked on the black, beetle-shaped exteriors.

“We are investing in new technology to protect against ever-evolving threats. These airships, when complete, will be the most advanced in the world, with electromagnetic pulse-resistant technology and the ability to sustain flight far longer than conventional aircraft.”

Jordan almost smiled at that. He wondered if the engineers ever planned on a flight that would last over two and a half centuries.

The screen switched to a time-lapse video of a construction site. An extensive area was being excavated. Next came the concrete, but instead of going up, the workers were building their structure belowground.

“Cities like this one could someday house the human race in the event of an unprecedented natural disaster or global war.”

The footage switched to images of vaults filled with seeds, and vast underground farms that put the one aboard the Hive to shame. Warehouses contained stockpiles of every supply imaginable, from computer parts to preserved rations. Next came the cryogenic chambers housing thousands of different species, including humans.

Few knew about the cryogenic silos or what ITC had been doing there. Jordan had kept it a secret ever since Captain Ash learned the truth about genetic engineering and shared it with him. Now that Ash was dead and the Hive was the only ship in the sky, he might well be the only person alive who knew the truth.

That would soon change. For his plan to succeed, he needed Rodger and the other divers to discover the truth for themselves.

The feed changed to a strange room that seemed to be underwater. Fish of all sizes swam past large windows. The narrator called it an “aquarium.” What ITC had done was remarkable, but in the end, it hadn’t been enough to save humanity. Humans had been driven from the surface into the great airships until, one by one, those fell from the sky.

“We have gone to great lengths to ensure the future of the human race,” the narrator said. “That future is bright, and we hope you will join us there.”

Jordan shut off the feed. The video ended on a happy note that now felt like a cruel joke. The future he lived in was anything but bright.

Only a few people on the Hive knew the rest of the story. The archives were vast, but bits and pieces of the big picture had been lost to time. Some of the files were corrupted; others had been erased. Though the details were vague, it seemed that mutually assured destruction had worked as designed, and brought the world to an end. During the Third World War, the very ships built to protect the United States had ended up destroying the planet with powerful bombs that turned the surface into wastelands.

Jordan still wasn’t sure who had caused the last war of humanity, but he knew that no corner of the earth had been spared from the perpetual darkness and the electrical storms that the bombs had created. North America. Europe. The Middle East. Asia. It was all gone.

With a snort, he turned away from his computer. This was exactly why he didn’t share the radio transmissions from the surface with the general population. Those messages could cause a riot.

No, he had to keep his people focused on their daily survival. There were only 442 people left on the ship. Scientists said it took at least 150 healthy humans to carry on the species. There were more bodies than that aboard the Hive, but they weren’t healthy by any stretch. Most had cancer at one stage or another. The radiation poisoning was slowly killing everyone.

He put his head in his hands. How much longer could he stave off the inevitable?

Jordan raised his head and scooted his chair closer to the monitor. Captain Ash had marked the Hilltop Bastion as one of the most promising places that could hold survivors. She had taken a deep interest in places like it in the final year of her life. In the end, it had also driven her mad and forced Jordan into some very difficult decisions for the safety of those aboard the Hive. He keyed in his credentials and unlocked her final logs, which painted a grim picture of the woman Captain Ash had become during the last years of her life.

The lower decks smelled worse than Michael remembered from his last visit. The shit cans weren’t being composted but once a week, and showers were running only a fraction of the time because of the energy curtailment. That meant overfill and the threat of disease, not to mention the rancid smells.

Curious eyes followed Michael and Layla down the corridor, which was lined with pathetic dirt-filled troughs where the lower-deckers tried to grow a few extra carrots or spinach plants. The leaves were pale and shriveled, like the people who lived down here. It made Michael sad and angry to see the way they were treated.

“Hell Divers,” hissed an old woman as they passed. Norma, an elderly gardener with a crooked spine, staggered after them, holding up hands caked with dirt. “Tell that captain we need the grow lights back on!”

Layla approached her, smiling gently. “We’re doing our best. I’ll pass your request on to Captain Jordan personally.”

Her calm voice seemed to soothe the old woman, who shuffled away toward one of the troughs and went back to propping up a tomato plant. How many thousands of times in her life had she performed that task? Michael wondered. Perhaps that was the reason she was bent like one of the struggling, stunted plants.

“Good job,” he said to Layla.

“We can’t stay down here much longer. People are going to start asking us questions.”

“We’re almost there,” Michael said. They hurried through the dark hallway into one of the least-visited rooms on the ship.

“Ugh!” Layla groaned. “Why are we at the library?”

“Do you remember when Captain Ash died?”

She looked at him strangely. “Of course. We were in our first year of engineering school and about to start our apprenticeships.”

“The last time I saw her and Mark, I was fifteen years old. Except that I didn’t know it would be the last time. I visited her in her private quarters. By then, the cancer had eaten her throat. She couldn’t speak, but she could write. The instructions on the note she gave me with this envelope said to open it here.”

Layla wrapped her arms around him. “I’m sorry, Michael. I know how much she meant to you.”

“I was close with Mark, too. They were the closest thing I had to parents after mine died.” He thought of them both every day, but sometimes it was just too painful. Mark had died of a heart attack two months after the cancer took Maria. They had loved each other fiercely for over thirty years. Michael hoped he would get a fraction of that time with Layla.

She kissed his cheek and stepped back. “I went through the same pain when I lost my parents. It never fully goes away.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

He pulled the note out of his pocket and pushed the door open. They stepped into a small room furnished with three desks and lit by a single candle. The glow danced over shelves of ragged books with faded covers.

“May I help you?” an ancient voice croaked.

“Hi, Mr. Matthis,” Michael said to the librarian. “Been a while.”

Jason Matthis stood and squinted in the candlelight. “I’m sorry, but my vision is failing me and I don’t recognize your voice.”

Michael and Layla crossed the small space, stopping in front of Jason’s desk. He smiled, flashing decayed teeth at them. The whites of his eyes reflected the lonely, flickering flame.

“It’s me, Michael Everhart.” He paused and then added, “Tin.”

“Ah,” Jason said. “And who is with you, Commander Tin?”

“Layla,” she said.

“And what brings you two here?”

She looked to Michael. He cleared his throat. “Research.”

“Then please let me know if I can assist you.”

“Thank you,” Michael replied. He led Layla over to the desk near the starboard bulkhead and took a seat. Before sitting down beside him, she fished a lighter from her pocket, lit the candle on the table, and pulled it close.

Holding her gaze, Michael used a fingernail to unseal the yellowed envelope. For five years, he had held on to this note, and for five years he had fought the daily temptation to open it.

Captain Ash had been the one to lift Michael up. She had taken him in after X didn’t return from Hades. She had saved his life, and he loved her for it. But she had always kept things hidden from him. Now he was finally going to find out the secrets she was hiding.

Michael unfolded the letter and held it to the light, reading the text in a whisper. “The New World Order. Page ninety-four.”

“That’s it?” Layla asked.

“No,” he replied. “That was just the beginning.”