Ghosts

FIVE

Michael clung to the metal ladder on the vertical face of the stern. Wind lashed and tugged at his suit. Some of the rusted metal rungs were as old as the ship. But of the thousands of items that needed to be checked and replaced every six months during routine maintenance of the Hive, these were often overlooked. With resources stretched thin, who cared about a few metal rungs on the outside of the ship? Nobody—at least, not until lives depended on them.

The rung beneath his left boot creaked as he weighted it. The metal gave slightly, but it held.

The thunder was growing louder, the pauses between booms ever shorter. Each clap vibrated his armor and rattled his nerves.

The storm was getting closer.

Keep moving, Michael.

His stomach sank when he looked down to the next rung. The rudders were about ten steps below, to his left. All three were locked at a forty-five-degree angle, blocking his way into the tunnel—his only way in to reconnect them to the grid.

Another glance showed him the damage that had disabled the rudders. A black streak tattooed the hull. Lightning had ripped right through the ship’s synthetic skin.

A boot hit the rung above his head. Layla was anchored to the ladder, with Magnolia just above her, their suits rippling violently in the wind and rain. Michael secured another carabiner to a steel hanger on the hull and clipped the rope. He pointed down.

“Holy shit!” Magnolia said over the comms. “Looks like the Hive got zapped.”

“I was pointing at the rudders,” Michael said. “We have to find a way around them to get inside.”

“Are you wacked?” Magnolia yelled.

He looked again at the rudders but didn’t see a better option. If they didn’t do this, the ship would likely go down.

He took a slow breath to dispel the jitters from his voice before he spoke. In the upper corner of his HUD, a clock was counting down. They had twenty minutes to repair the rudders before the storm caught up with them—if they even managed to make it to the access tunnel. And if the increased power to the turbofans didn’t blow the generators first.

This could end badly in a thousand different ways.

He fished another carabiner from the pocket on the outside of his armor. Only two left. Instead of clipping them every fifteen feet, as Ty had suggested, he decided to save the last two for later.

“Follow me,” he said over the radio.

He stepped down another rung and pressed his boot against the slippery surface. The wind and rain rendered him nearly deaf and blind, but he was used to working in hostile conditions.

The rope tethered to the clip on his chest armor tightened as he took another step down. He nearly lost his balance when a voice hissed from the speaker built inside his helmet.

“Raptor One, Captain Jordan. Report.”

Michael didn’t respond right away as he struggled to keep his grip on the rusty, rain-slick metal.

“Raptor One, do you copy?” Jordan repeated, his voice taking on an anxious edge.

“We’re working on a way down, Captain. Stand by.”

Layla fed Michael slack, and he grabbed one of the carabiners from his pocket. He was about to clip the hanger just as the hair on his neck prickled. The lightning hit the surface of the ship an instant later. He braced himself as sparks blew past him. The hull, like their layered suits, had been designed to resist conductivity, and by the time the current reached the three divers, it had almost dissipated.

That didn’t make it any less terrifying to see the white-hot electrical arc so close.

A jolt rocked the ship as they dropped into a wind shear. Michael gripped the ladder rail, but the carabiner slipped from his fingers, clanked off the side of the ship, and fell away into the darkness.

“Damn it!” he whispered. With only one biner left, he would have to choose the placement carefully.

He continued down the rungs until he was above the rightmost rudder. The pitted metal surface had more scars than a veteran Hell Diver. With utmost care, he reached with his left hand between the rudder and stern. The gap was a foot wide. Maybe a bit more, but not nearly enough to squeeze through.

He bumped the chin pad twice to open a line to the bridge.

“Captain, I’ve… we’ve reached the rudder,” Michael said, correcting himself to avoid a dressing-down from Jordan for not following orders and giving Magnolia point. “Still searching for a way past them into access tunnel ninety-four.”

From this position, he couldn’t get through to the tunnel. The only way in was down. They would have to climb underneath the rudders and then back up and through one of the vertical gaps.

A new sound emerged over the crackle of static and the rush of wind. The whine of the turbofans reminded Michael of another threat. They were getting closer to the turbines under the ship. If he got sucked inside, the eight-foot blades would turn him to mist.

Four more rungs down got him below the rudders, providing a view up through the gaps. There appeared to be enough room to squeeze through—if he could scale his way up there.

He reached out and grabbed the pocked edge of the first rudder with his left hand while holding on to the rung above him with his right.

“Be careful, Michael,” Layla said over the comm.

“Just checking to see if I can move them manually.”

As he pushed, a gust of wind slammed into his side, throwing him off balance as he pushed. Numbness rushed through his body as his left boot slipped off the rung. For a moment, he felt the same pure rush of adrenaline that prickled through him before a dive.

“Hold on!” Layla yelled.

Her upward tug on the rope helped center his mass, and he stepped back onto the ladder, grabbing the rail and the rung above him.

Drawing in a deep breath, Michael gave himself a few seconds to regain his composure. Sweat dripped down his forehead, stinging his eyes. He blinked it away and kept his visor pointed at the rudders. If he couldn’t move them manually, he would have to step off the ladder, climb the side of the ship, and wedge himself between the first and second rudders to reach the access tunnel.

“A little slack!” he yelled into his mike. “I have an idea.” He clipped the last biner to a hanger between the ladder and the right rudder.

“What are you doing?” Layla asked.

“Just keep me tight!”

The slack tightened around the clips above his navel, and he stepped off the rung, planting his left boot sole against the sheer wall of the stern. It slid several inches down the wet surface before the rope snugged. Next, he took his other foot off the ladder and pressed it against the stern. With his hands still on the rung, his waist was bent at ninety degrees. He bent his knees as if on rappel, while still holding on to the rung with both hands.

“Oh, hell no!” Magnolia shouted when she realized what he was doing.

“Tin!” Layla cried out a second later.

He let go of the rung with his left hand, then his right, so that he was now dangling entirely from the rope.

His boots slid another few inches, and he let the wind take him. The momentary sensation of weightlessness made his stomach flutter the way it always did during the first moment of a dive, when the launch tube opened and he plummeted earthward. This wasn’t much different, he told himself. Heck, it was safer. Nothing but air separated his boots from the surface twenty thousand feet below, but at least he had a rope. He could do this.

“Hold tight!” he yelled.

Swinging from right to left, he studied the three rudders directly above him.

The countdown on his visor broke fifteen minutes.

How the hell was he supposed to get these things up and running in so little time?

Both X and Michael’s dad had been in worse situations than this. They would have found a way. There was always a way.

He was stretching upward for the rudder when another blast of wind hit him, swinging him left. His fingers slipped across the wet surface of the first rudder. He tried a second grab and then a third as he swung back and forth. Each time, his gloves slid across without finding a grip, and the lump in his stomach grew heavier.

Lightning slashed through the sky behind him, firing the side of the ship with a brilliant blue glow. Water slid down the hull as if the ship were sweating.

The clap of thunder shook him so hard, he could feel it in his bones. Reaching down, he fingered through his tool belt for the clamp-locking pliers he kept there. Again he swung like a pendulum, this time dragging his feet on the hull to slow his growing momentum.

Bending his knees, he reached up with the pliers and clamped them onto the first right rudder. He repeated the process with a second pair on the middle rudder.

Ten feet above him, Layla and Magnolia clung to the ladder, looking down. Sporadic flashes of lightning glinted off their armor.

“When I give the order, send me some slack,” he said calmly.

Layla’s voice hissed in his ear. “I hope you know what you’re doing, cowboy.”

Michael wasn’t sure what “cowboy” meant. Where did she come up with these words? No matter—he, too, hoped this would work. Kicking off from the side of the ship, he let the wind take him. He swung toward the rudders, walking his feet across the vertical hull, and grabbed the near pliers.

“Slack!” he yelled.

As soon as Layla fed out a foot or two of rope, he used the pliers to pull himself up and grab the second pair. Soon his head and chest were above the tools. His boots slipped on the slick surface, but he got enough traction to push his shoulders between the first and second rudders.

Boots pressed against the hull, and torso wedged between the two rudders, he held himself there like one of the muscular gymnasts that he had seen in the picture books.

Water sluiced down his visor, obstructing his view, but only a few feet remained between him and the access tunnel above the rudders. He just needed a little boost to get there.

He shoved off with his boots and swung his legs back. The wind pushed his lower body, and clenching his abs, he kicked forward, then back, then forward again. The pliers on the first rudder wobbled as he gathered the needed momentum to launch himself toward the tunnel entrance. Just as the pliers snapped free, his gloved fingertips grabbed the bottom edge of the access tunnel. His feet hit the hull, and he felt the force of gravity pulling him down.

The terrifying whine of the turbofans gave him new inspiration, and he pulled himself up and wedged his chest armor over the edge. Pressing the toes of his boots against the hull, he wriggled his upper body farther into the passage and kicked his way inside.

“I’m in,” he gasped, and heard Layla’s whispered prayer of thanks over the comms.

There was no time to waste. He pushed himself up and clicked on his headlamp. The entire area was only five feet wide, with a ceiling so low that his helmet nearly touched it. At the back of the narrow passage, a sealed hatch led into the tunnels that Samson’s engineers couldn’t access from inside.

Michael clove-hitched the slack around a vertical post in the tunnel. He had maybe forty feet left. Ty’s calculations had been spot-on.

The hard part was over. Now that they had a ladder of sorts, Layla and Magnolia just needed to climb up the stern. He ran the rope through his belay device and cinched it snug.

“Okay, Layla, you’re next,” he said.

A minute later, Michael saw her helmet. Clamping her ascenders onto the taut rope, she stepped into the stirrups and pushed upward, first one side and then the other, until she reached the rudders. Michael walked up between the right and center rudders, grabbed her wrist, and hauled her inside. Magnolia came next, nearly jumping inside.

“We’re inside, Captain,” Michael reported.

“You have nine minutes,” Jordan said.

As if to emphasize the point, the ship groaned as they passed through another bubble of turbulence. The rope kept the three divers tethered together, but they all wobbled. Michael reached out for Layla to steady them both. Magnolia grabbed the poles connecting to the first rudder.

“It’s okay; we’ve got this,” Michael said, trying to reassure himself as much as the other divers.

He let go of Layla and pulled the coils of wire from his cargo pocket. Then he took a screwdriver from his duty belt and staggered to the bulkhead. Unscrewing the rusted control panel for the first rudder, he stared at a bird’s nest of colored wires.

Magnolia patted him on the shoulder. “Hope that makes sense to you, because it’s noodles to me.”

Layla was already working. She reached inside and began snipping while Michael prepared the new coil. They had done this a hundred times inside the ship, but never with so little time, and never in such harsh conditions.

Magnolia hovered behind Michael and Layla. “Come on, hurry it up!”

“I don’t even know why Jordan wanted you here,” Layla said. “We can do this fine on our own.”

“Um, because I’m fearless, fast, and, um, have great hair?”

Michael ignored her. He pulled the wires that Layla had cut, dropped them on the floor, and handed her the end of the undamaged coil.

They worked for several minutes, Layla doing the splicing and Michael feeding the new wire to her.

“Five minutes,” Magnolia reminded them.

“Shut up!” Michael and Layla said simultaneously.

Magnolia backed away, hands raised in surrender.

“Almost got the first one,” Layla said. She used her multi-tool to strip the end of a coil and tie it to the connection. She stuck her arm farther into the control panel. “There, that should do it for rudder one.”

Michael bumped his chin pad three times to open a line to engineering.

“Samson, Michael here. Try rudder one.”

Over the crackle of static came a grinding noise. All three divers turned toward the huge fin as it slowly moved.

“Good job,” Michael said. “Just two left.”

“And four minutes,” Magnolia muttered. When Layla turned to glare at her, Magnolia whistled and put her hands behind her back.

Michael shook his head and kept working. The ship would have some range of motion now, but they needed at least one more rudder to turn the ship enough to get away from the storm.

Michael and Layla moved to the next panel. They were a good team, working fast and efficiently together, especially under pressure. He honestly wished that Magnolia hadn’t come with them. If he had to guess, Jordan had sent her because her claim to fame was her speed and agility, but so far, she had been no help whatsoever.

“I think… yes! Got it!” Layla tightened a yellow wire nut down on the connection she had just made.

“Rudder two back online,” Michael reported to Samson.

They moved to the final control panel. He unscrewed it and pulled it off. This time, the mess of wires was more of a lump, fried by the electrical strike.

“Shit,” Layla said, leaning forward.

Michael pulled the rest of the wire from his cargo pocket. He was reaching out to give it to Layla when something flashed in his peripheral vision. Lightning lashed the side of the ship, and a heavy thud sounded as the stern suddenly plunged toward the surface.

Michael watched in horror as Magnolia fell backward, screaming. She windmilled her arms, striking the rudders as she fell between them.

The rope pulled Layla and Michael after her. He dragged his boots against the ground, but the ship dipped again and he lost his balance.

As he fell, the realization hit him like a gut punch. The lightning had severed the rope clipped above them on the top of the ship.

He hit the floor of the access tunnel knees first, sliding and reaching out for Layla. His fingers narrowly missed hers, and she flailed for something else to hold on to. The first rudder stopped her with a thump. She let out a squeak, and then she was gone, sucked into the void.

“Layla!” Michael yelled. He reached out for the poles connecting the rudders and grabbed them before he could slip through the gap. Looking down, he saw two battery packs glowing in the darkness. Layla was about ten feet down, and Magnolia was another ten below that.

He had to pull them back up before the turbofans sucked them in. Michael wrapped his fingers around the poles of rudders 1 and 2 and pushed himself to his feet, but the ship dipped again and he fell to his knees. The wind sucked him outside, and he fell helmet first toward the clouds.

They all dropped several feet before the slack caught on the clove hitch he had thrown around the vertical post. The rope went taut, and he came to a stop, arms and legs spread out as in a stable diving position. His heart stuttered when he looked down at Magnolia and Layla. Both were dangerously close to the turbofans.

A second later, a blast of wind took him, and he smacked into the stern. He braced himself with his palms and forearms, but his helmet whacked the hull so hard it rattled him.

Magnolia’s screams came over the screech of the wind, and Michael quickly saw why. She was being pulled toward the turbofan directly beneath the stern, about ten feet below her.

The stern finally began to rise onto an even keel, pushing on him and sending him swinging back out into the storm. Pulling on the rope above him, he fought his way into a vertical position. The ship was turning away now. The storm was almost on top of them, but he could see an end to the swell. They just needed to get around the outer rim of bulging clouds.

“Raptor One, what’s going on out there? Please report,” Jordan said over the comm.

“Captain!” Michael yelled. “You have to kill all power to turbofans nine and ten. They’re pulling Magnolia in.”

The brief pause felt like an eternity.

“Captain!” Michael shouted.

Jordan’s voice came at last. “Negative, Raptor One. I need those turbofans to get us out of here!”

Michael could already imagine Captain Jordan justifying his actions at their memorial ceremony, explaining to the citizens of the Hive how courageously the divers had sacrificed their lives to keep the ship flying.

Not this time.

Michael wasn’t going to let Magnolia and Layla die.

Squirming, he looked up. The bottom rung of the ladder was ten feet up and to his right. Clamping first one ascender and then the other onto the taut rope, he put his boots in the stirrups and began working his way up.

“Get in your stirrups and start jugging!” he shouted.

Layla followed his lead below, and when she reached the ladder, they rigged nylon pulleys from the bottom two rungs and started winching Magnolia up. The work was backbreaking, especially in the wind, but, inch by inch, they at last got her to the ladder.

The dark clouds on the horizon lightened. The end of the storm was in sight. The Hive was almost clear.

Michael hurriedly dismantled the makeshift rig and was stowing the pulleys in his side pocket, his other hand holding the ladder rail, when the ship lurched. His boots slid on the wet rung, and he lost his grip. Layla fell at the same time, yanking Magnolia off, and in the space of a second, all three were dangling below the rudders, right back where they had started.

“What the fuck are you doing up there?” Magnolia screamed. “Help me!”

“Hold on!” Michael shouted back. He felt for the rope and caught a wrap. It was eight-kilonewton test, so he wasn’t worried about it snapping. But the hanger and the post that anchored them were another matter. If either broke, the other would probably give, too, and they all would get whisked right into the blades of the turbofans.

“Captain, you have to shut off the fans or we’re going to lose Magnolia!” Michael said. “We’re almost clear of the storm. Please. I’m begging you!”

“I’m sorry, Raptor One,” Jordan replied. “I can’t shut off those turbofans until we’re completely clear.”

The sound of the fans was louder now. Michael looked down to find Magnolia’s legs being sucked toward the turbines, forcing her into a jackknife position.

He ran through their limited options. If Jordan was unwilling to shut the fans off, all Michael could do was rig his ascenders again and use the stirrups to haul all three of them a little higher until they cleared the storm. He needed only a few minutes.

There was, of course, one other option, which disgusted Michael even to think about. He and Layla could easily climb to safety if they didn’t have Magnolia weighing them down. But he would never give that order. He wasn’t like the captain. Either they all would survive this together, or no one would. Then Jordan could deal with the fallout from having killed three of his best divers.

Michael stepped into the stirrups and looked down at Layla. “Start jugging like your life depends on it—because it does!”

She nodded, and together they started upward again.

Magnolia’s raspy voice rose over the whine of the turbines. “Michael!” she yelled. “Tell Weaver I had that straight flush, you hear me? I want that on my fucking memorial plaque!”

Below, something glinted in the blue light of Magnolia’s battery pack. She had pulled her knife.

“No!” Layla shouted.

“Magnolia, don’t!” Michael said. “Just hold on! We’re almost clear of the storm. We’re going to get you home. Just hold on!”

He worked the ascenders faster, climbing as quickly as his exhausted limbs and the weight of three divers with chutes and armor would allow. Layla was doing the same thing below him. Sheets of rain hit the divers as they raced to save their friend.

They had pulled Magnolia a foot farther away from the turbofans, but it wasn’t enough. The exertion was catching up. They would never get themselves and her to the ladder again. They would slide right back down the sheer face of the stern. He pushed with his boots and pressed his right foot into the stirrup with all his strength. The feeling that he was about to fail gnawed at the pit of his stomach. He pushed and pulled harder, unwilling to give up.

Lightning cracked, farther away now. The strikes were intermittent, and the sky was growing lighter. The storm was breaking up, but the turbofans continued to whir below them.

Michael felt something odd happening with the locking carabiner clipped to his chest armor. It was bending from the combined weight of Layla and Magnolia.

“Captain, please,” Michael pleaded. “We’re almost clear! Please just shut off turbofans nine and ten!”

This time, there was no response.

“It’s been fun watching you kids grow up,” Magnolia said quietly over the comms. “I’m sorry I can’t be there to see you get married someday.”

Before Michael could reply, the load beneath him suddenly halved. He looked down as the blur of blue that was Magnolia’s battery pack got sucked under the ship. There was no scream, just the crack of thunder and the groan of the ship.

“Magnolia!” Layla yelled.

Michael closed his eyes and dipped his helmet in despair. Anger quickly replaced the pointless emotion. Was this how X had felt when Michael’s father was killed due to a faulty weather sensor? Michael had blamed X, at least in part, and X had blamed Captain Ash. But now he realized the truth. Regardless of who was captaining the ship, divers always came last.

Layla was sobbing, and Michael kicked the taut rope below him to get her attention.

“Come on,” he said. “There’s nothing we can do for her, and we have to climb before my locker blows.”

“I can’t believe she’s dead,” Layla said. “She sacrificed herself for us.”

“Maybe she made it past the turbofans. Maybe she’ll deploy her chute and we can pick her up later.” Michael knew how crazy that sounded. Even if Magnolia made it past the fans, she would be falling through the middle of an electrical storm. If she didn’t get fried, she would have to use her booster after she landed, to go right back into that same storm, which would screw with her beacon and comms. Finding her would be nearly impossible, and Jordan would never risk the ship in a storm for a diver anyway.

Michael gave himself a few seconds to catch his breath and take in the reality that he had probably seen the last of his friend. Rain and wind battered him as he hung there. When he looked up, the sky had cleared. They had passed the edge of the storm.

“Okay, we’re shutting the fans down now,” said a new voice over the comms. It sounded a lot like Katrina.

Jordan didn’t even have the guts to relay the message.

“Raptor One, what is your status?” Katrina asked. “Is everyone okay?”

Thirty seconds. Magnolia had needed only thirty fucking seconds, and then Michael and Layla could have pulleyed her up.

“With all due respect, no, we’re not okay,” Michael said. “Magnolia’s gone.” He wanted to say a good deal more, but he bit his lip and focused on his breathing.

Michael and Layla began climbing back to the relative safety of the access tunnel. Without Magnolia’s weight, the storm, and the suction of the turbofans, the ascent went smoothly.

“Magnolia, do you copy?” Michael asked as he climbed.

Static crackled over the channel.

Layla tried several times, but the only reply was more static.

They worked as a team, and when Michael got back to the tunnel, he grabbed the side, hooked a heel over the top, and pulled himself up. Inside, he turned and grabbed Layla. Her hands were shaking, and he put his arm around her, pulling her helmet against his chest. For a moment, they just sat there, holding each other, neither of them saying a word. A delta of lightning split the horizon in the distance, but the rain had subsided.

Wearily, he stood and helped Layla to her feet. They still had the third rudder to repair before they could return home—without Magnolia.