Allegiance

ELEVEN

The encrypted radio channel crackled with a message from Star Grazer. Les could make out snippets of General Santiago’s words, but not enough to string into anything meaningful. Not so much because it was in Spanish, which Les had gotten tolerably good at, but the warship was twenty thousand feet below them, and the electrical storm was chopping up their comms.

The Cazadores were nearing the first stop on their journey: a fuel depot that no sky person had ever seen. Known as Bloodline, it was one of two such hidden outposts.

Les glanced at the map on his monitor again to confirm that they were almost to the coastline of a country once named Venezuela.

“I always wondered where they got their oil,” he said.

Timothy had explained how, before the war, ITC scientists had developed a stabilizer to preserve both gasoline and diesel fuel indefinitely. The sky people had never needed gasoline to power their airships, which ran on nuclear fuel cells. Other than parts and medical supplies, the only other thing they needed was helium, to keep the ships in the air.

The Cazadores, by contrast, needed petroleum-based fuels for practically everything, including this mission. Since the depot was on the way, the ship had left port without refueling from the dwindling reserves back at home. Without stopping to refuel now, they wouldn’t have enough diesel to get to Rio de Janeiro and home again.

The Iron Reef was in the opposite direction, two hundred miles west of the Vanguard Islands, at a place called Belize.

Another message broke over the channel.

“Timothy, you get any of that?” Les asked.

“Some of it, sir,” he replied.

“Well, enlighten us.”

Eevi and Layla looked over from their stations.

“Sir, they are asking for our assistance,” Timothy said.

The speakers popped again with another message from Santiago. This time, Timothy was able to translate in real time.

“General Santiago said they sent an advance team,” the AI said, “but the outpost has been damaged severely. He’s worried there could be defectors or… something else.”

“Or maybe it could have been the hurricane,” Layla said.

“Highly unlikely,” Timothy replied.

“So what’s he want us to do?” Les asked.

“To lower Discovery and check it out from the sky—or send a team of divers.” Timothy’s voice caught slightly, as if he understood the perils implicit in such a request.

“Could be a trap,” Eevi said.

Les frowned at her cynicism.

“Let’s give them the benefit of the doubt,” Layla said. “If they wanted to kill us, they could shoot us out of the sky pretty easily with the ordnance they have.”

Les appreciated having Layla back on the bridge. She had always been a voice of reason, much as her mentor, Katrina DaVita, had been during her time as captain.

“Look, I think we all should be suspicious,” said Eevi. “My husband is one of the divers they want to go down there.” She paused and then added, “Has it occurred to you that they might want our ship?”

“Yes,” Les said. “It has, actually. If they could steal Discovery, they would have the upper hand in both numbers and firepower. But that isn’t going to happen.”

“No, it won’t, because you have me,” Timothy said, smiling.

Les would have smiled, too, but the airship shook viciously in a pocket of turbulence.

“Going to get rougher before it calms down,” Eevi said, checking her monitor. “This storm is growing, so I hope you aren’t seriously considering descending. What about sending Cricket?”

“The drone will never make it through the storm,” Layla said. “But maybe if we do descend, we could deploy it. Assuming Michael has finished his modifications. I know he’s been working on the thrusters.”

Les took a moment to consider his options. The hurricane had already pummeled Discovery during the first leg of the flight. And the threat of lightning made this storm even worse.

As if to emphasize the danger they were still in, thunder rattled the hull.

“Timothy, do you have a map in the database of this facility?” Les asked.

“Negative, sir,” Timothy replied. “All we have is an old map of the surrounding area, and the current readings from our sensors.”

“Pull them up on the main monitor.”

“One moment, sir.”

Les unbuckled his seat harness and walked over to the mounted wall screen. Eevi and Layla joined him there.

“No wonder General Santiago wants our help,” Eevi said. “It’s a red zone.”

“And they have a team that actually lives here full time?” Layla asked. “How could they survive?”

It wasn’t just radiation that had Les concerned. “Those toxicity levels are sky-high,” he said. “A minute without an air filter, and you’d be dead.”

“Definitely a hostile environment,” Timothy said.

Ten minutes later, another message broke over the open channel.

“General Santiago’s advance team has returned from reconnoitering the facility,” Timothy reported. “He said they can’t access the piers or the facility, and is again asking us to recon from the sky for a separate route.”

Les could tell right away that Eevi didn’t like the suggestion, and Layla didn’t seem too fond of it, either. But their preferences didn’t really matter. What mattered was that they do their part, because when they reached the main target, they would need every warrior they could get, and without fuel, Star Grazer wouldn’t make the journey home.

“Prepare to take us down, Timothy,” Les ordered. “I want to see what we’re dealing with before I commit to sending in Team Raptor or Cricket.”

Timothy nodded. “On it, sir.”

“Layla, ready the weapons. I want to be ready for any hostile contacts.”

“You got it, Captain.”

Les pulled the handset off the dash and opened a channel shipwide.

“This is Captain Mitchells. We’re heading to the surface, and things are going to get bumpy. Please report to your shelters or buckle in wherever you are.”

He returned to his chair, strapped in, and fingered his monitor to make sure their exterior shields were fully deployed.

All but one of the fifty panels flashed operational. As long as they didn’t take multiple lightning hits, the shield over that sector of the hull would hold.

“Execute, Timothy,” Les said. “Forty-five-degree down angle.”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” the AI replied.

The bow slowly dipped, and the airship cut through the clouds, accelerating. Lightning arced across flight path. A strike hit but was absorbed by the shield.

Layla shot Les a concerned look.

“We’re fine, Lieutenant,” he said.

Halfway to the surface, the storm intensified, and Les almost choked on his words. The ship took multiple strikes, resulting in several alarms.

“We’ve sustained damage on the starboard side,” Layla reported. “Two shields are at ten percent. Another hit, and we could see some internal damage.”

Les clicked out of his harness and moved over to the controls. He grabbed them and slightly altered the angle of descent. Then he fired the six rear thrusters.

“Everyone, hold on,” he said.

Purple flames streaked from the boosters, propelling their descent. Les grabbed the armrests and gripped them tightly. As in diving, sometimes the best way through a storm was the fastest way.

The altitude monitor ticked down and their speed rocketed to one hundred miles per hour and increasing. Les finally backed off just below Discovery’s two-hundred-miles-per-hour maximum, not wanting to risk it if they should hit a major pocket of turbulence.

The hull groaned, and the airship jolted before steadying back out again. All around them, the forces were testing the bones of the airship.

“Hold, baby, hold,” Les murmured.

He looked back at the main monitor. Forks of lightning sizzled vertically, one of them grazing the airship. Another warning beeped.

Through the last of the descent, Les thought of his boy. He had tried to bury the painful memories and remember the good times, but his heart broke for his son. Trey had served time in the brig and came out a man, dedicating his life to his people and, in the end, sacrificing it for them.

Les would see to it that he had not died in vain. He would honor Trey’s memory and avenge him.

At five thousand feet, lightning blitzed from all sides, setting off alarms.

“Almost there,” Timothy said.

At three thousand feet, Les eased off power to the thrusters and slowed their descent with the turbofans. Random flashes of lightning splashed across the skyline, leaving behind a blue residue that lingered on the retina.

“Timothy, turn on our front beams,” Les ordered.

The lights clicked on, cutting through the inky bottom of the storm. Only sporadic lightning crossed their flight path.

At two thousand feet, the surface coalesced before his eyes.

“There she is,” Les said.

The warning sensors ceased, and an eerie silence fell over the bridge. Les gave Timothy control of the ship and walked over to the windows to see the old-world coastal city with his own eyes.

Not really a city, he realized. Not anymore.

The refueling station was one massive facility on the shore, with several buildings surrounding a central tower. The piers extending out into the water were broken away, only hunks remaining where Star Grazer would have docked to fill its tanks.

A beach separated the fuel depot from the piers, but the land was too fogged in for them to see any bridges or roads leading from the docks to the central station.

He did spot a lighthouse on a peninsula not far from the main facility, but unlike the other Cazador lighthouses he had seen in the past, this one was not glowing to attract Sirens or human survivors.

“Timothy, scan for life-forms,” Les said.

“Already did, sir,” the AI replied. “I’m not detecting signs of any animal life bigger than Miles on the surface, or any exhaust plumes from the defectors. But there are some very large creatures under the water.”

“Take us lower,” Les said.

Timothy brought them down to under a thousand feet—so close, they could see some of the faded letters on the central tower. The top floor was an observation deck with shuttered windows.

“Take a look at this,” Timothy said. He switched the feed on the main monitor to a camera under the ship, and Les moved back from the windows to take a look.

What remained of the vehicle bridge from the piers to the main station lay scattered across the beach. Something else was odd down there, too.

“Zoom in,” Les said.

Timothy magnified the view, revealing razor-wire fences, and black craters where mines had exploded on the sandy beach.

“I don’t think a storm did this,” Layla said.

“Then what did?” Eevi asked. “The defectors?”

“Pardon me for interrupting,” Timothy said.

The officers all turned from the screen to look at him, but he pointed back at the screen, which flickered to another image.

“Those life-forms in the water,” he said. “They are feeding.”

Fish bobbed in the black surf on-screen. Hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions of them—so many that it looked as if the water had a rippling white skin. But not everything down there was dead.

The camera zoomed in on a dorsal fin cutting through the water. And another.

Dozens of sharks fed on the easy pickings.

“What killed all those fish?” Layla asked.

“Oil,” Timothy said. “The refueling station appears to have sustained either an attack or severe storm damage. I’m not sure which, but the pipes have been breached and much of the fuel released into the ocean.”

Les walked back to the windows, his hands clasped behind his back.

“There is a secondary pumping station, but it’s a few miles inland,” Timothy said. “Other than that, the only other fuel outpost is in Belize, in the opposite direction from our destination.”

Les pressed his face against the porthole. He could see a road below, but getting there was going to be the problem.

“You think it was the machines that did this?” Eevi asked.

“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out,” Les said. “Timothy, you have the controls. Layla, you have the bridge.”

“Where are you going?” she asked.

Les paused just inside the bridge door. “To the surface.”

X wondered what was hiding in the Cazador history books. The archaic society had kept pretty good records chronicling its journeys into the wastes—so many, in fact, that he still had barely made a dent.

But there wasn’t much about the raiding excursion to Rio de Janeiro other than a few pages about a ship that was deployed and never came back.

Tonight, he sat in the library, trying to find more information, something that he might relay to Discovery on the encrypted channel before they arrived in a week. It was his way of feeling as if he was helping—that and an attempt to keep his mind off the recent string of tragedies.

But how could he ignore the pointless deaths?

The battle for the Metal Islands had been costly for both societies, and while he had hoped to avoid further bloodshed, he could see now that it was impossible.

Holding the limp body of a boy who died trying to avenge his father had taken another piece of X, and he didn’t have many more pieces left to lose.

He shut the book, sending up a little puff of fine dust. The noise attracted the attention of the only other person in the library. Imulah sat at another table, combing through the archives for information about Rio de Janeiro.

Reaching over to the stacks, X grabbed the next book filled with stories of monsters the Cazadores had encountered in the wastes and human survivors they had taken captive.

The drawing of an airship helped distract him from the painful thoughts. Taking a closer look, he saw that it was the same airship the Cazadores had mounted to the roof of the capitol tower and converted into the Sky Arena.

“Imulah, come here,” X said.

The scribe walked over.

“Read this to me.”

X moved the book over so Imulah could read it from the chair beside him.

“These are the records of the airship that came before yours,” Imulah said, holding up the book. “Almost a year after the missiles and bombs fell from the sky, an airship called the ITC Jupiter discovered the Metal Islands.”

X had never heard of the ship.

“Yes,” Imulah said. “The record goes on to talk about the events that followed—primarily, a peaceful landing. The people of the airship assimilated with those who had fled here when the bombs destroyed the Old World.”

“So there was no fighting?” X asked.

Imulah shook his head.

“This was a very long time ago, when things were much different.”

Imulah kept reading, but X’s thoughts drifted to the conflicts and resentments of today—to DJ, his son Rhett, and the crew of the Lion. A few floors above him, Ada Winslow sat in a cell, just as he once had, awaiting her punishment.

X still hadn’t figured out what to do with her. He had thought that reopening the Sky Arena would slake the Cazadores’ thirst for blood. But it had only resulted in the death of an innocent boy trying to avenge a father murdered over a stupid boat. Now he had two dead sky people, and a situation that was quickly spiraling out of control.

Fur brushed against his legs under the table. The warmth of Miles lying at his feet reminded him there was still much to be thankful for. A year ago, he had been trekking across the wastes with this dog, crazed, exhausted, and dying of cancer. Now he was the freaking king of a paradise that his people could call home forever, as long as they didn’t kill each other first. Maybe things weren’t as bad as they seemed.

The doors to the library screeched open. Sergeant Wynn and Lieutenant Sloan walked inside. Their rifles were slung, so this wasn’t likely an emergency. He walked away from the tables and spoke softly.

“Sergeant, Lieutenant,” he said. “Please tell me you have good news.”

Sloan looked to Wynn.

“I’ve spent the day talking to our Spanish-speaking militia soldiers on all the rigs and have ordered them to keep an eye and an ear out for any talk of rebellion,” Wynn said. “So far, they haven’t heard anything.”

“How about Discovery?” X asked. “Have we heard anything from them?”

Sloan shook her head. “With those storms, it’s possible we won’t hear from them again until they return.”

“Keep trying. Maybe we will get lucky. If you do get through, I want you to tell me ASAP. I don’t care what time it is.”

“Understood.”

“Keep up the good work,” X said.

The soldiers left, and he returned to the table.

Imulah closed his book. “King Xavier, I’m sorry,” said the scribe, “but the failed mission to Rio de Janeiro seems to be one of the operations with little documentation.”

“Why? For every other mission, you have the records of how many soldiers deployed, on what ship, all the way down to how many freaking bullets were sent and how many came back.”

Imulah licked his lips—a new nervous tic.

“What aren’t you telling me?” X asked, stepping closer.

“King Xavier, we have many customs that you still do not understand.”

“For example?”

The scribe brought his scarred hand up to his beard. “For example, we do not keep detailed records of failed missions, because the warriors who failed are not glorified in their deaths.”

“So what happens the next time a mission is sent out to the same place? Those warriors are left in the dark about the dangers? Just like this mission?”

Imulah nodded. “It is a challenge and a rite of passage.”

“It’s also stupid.”

“With respect, King Xavier, ‘stupid’ could apply to many of your customs as well.”

“Oh, yeah? Name one.”

“Jumping out of airships into electrical storms.”

X chuckled and cracked a grin. “Okay, fine. Touché, scribe man. But just remember, you guys worship a mollusk. And you followed a man that you called Octopus Lord.”

“And now I follow you, King Xavier.”

X narrowed his gaze, trying to gauge Imulah’s sincerity. The scribe hadn’t forgiven Magnolia for pinning his hand to a door. Not that X blamed him for harboring some resentment, but the man was lucky to have his balls after what he did to Magnolia.

“So you’re telling me you have absolutely zero details on the last mission to Rio de Janeiro other than the fact that a warship left and never came back?” X asked.

Imulah sighed. “There doesn’t appear to be any record of that mission other than what you have already read about the ship and the warriors deployed,” he said. “The only way there would be anything about this place would be if there was a successful journey there in the distant past that I’m not aware of.”

“Would have been nice to know earlier tonight, before I wasted my time coming here.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not sure there ever was another mission. I will have to dig deep in the archives.”

“You do that. I’ve got someone I need to talk to.”

“Very well, King Xavier.”

X left the scribe to his work. He’d had enough of the library for the night. He whistled for Miles, who followed him out the doors and down a passage displaying pictures of former kings and great generals.

“No way in hell they’re putting my mug up there,” he said.

Miles wagged his tail.

“Oh, so you want your picture on the wall, boy?”

The dog’s tail whipped harder.

“Okay, maybe someday,” X said. The thought made him sad, knowing that someday, perhaps soon, Miles would pass over the golden bridge.

When that day came, X wouldn’t feel like sticking around much longer himself. In many ways, the dog was the closest friend he had known in the past decade.

He shook away the morbid thoughts on his way down the corridor, where he saw another loyal friend. Rhino stood guard with Ton and Victor. X was glad to see that Victor and Rhino had been talking. He trusted all three men with his life, and it would be good if they too became friends.

“Are you finished with your studies, King Xavier?” Rhino said.

X resisted the urge to laugh. He just couldn’t quite get used to being called “King” and having a bodyguard the size of an old-world power lifter.

“Yeah, I’m done and heading up to talk to Lieutenant… to Ada Winslow,” X said, correcting himself.

Rhino’s nostrils flared, moving his nose ring. This small reaction told X all he needed to know about the man’s feelings toward the young woman who had murdered his people.

X nodded at Ton and Victor, then gestured for Rhino to walk the halls with him.

“What would you have me do with her?” X asked.

Rhino took a moment to reply. “It is not my place to say, King Xavier.”

“I’m asking your opinion.”

Again Rhino hesitated.

“Speak freely,” X said. “I seek your counsel.”

“I’d keep what she did silent forever—by killing her.”

X studied Rhino and then turned away.

“If what she did ever gets out, it would likely mean civil war,” Rhino said. “You can’t risk it, for the sake of both our peoples.”

“I know.”

“Then you know what you must do.”

“What are you saying? That I should kill her right now?”

“That is your decision as king.”

X pondered their conversation on the flight of stairs up to the brig. A single militia soldier stood guard outside the dimly lit passage leading to three cells.

“King Xavier,” the guard said, coming to attention as he approached.

“Evening,” X said. “Please open the gate and give me the key to prisoner Winslow’s cell.”

The soldier found the key and opened the door, then handed X the ring of keys. X went inside and stopped at Ada’s cell. She was sitting up on her bunk, knees up to her chest.

“Sir,” she said.

He opened the door and stepped inside to look out the window over the water.

“How old are you?” X asked with his back to the young woman.

Ada stammered. “Twenty-five, sir.”

She wasn’t much older than Michael and Layla. He turned toward her and sighed.

“You had your entire life ahead of you,” he said, “with a promising job on Discovery and a home in the sunshine—something so many of us literally fought and died for.”

“And I killed to protect it.”

X sat down in the chair across from the bunk.

“I was evening the playing field for the war that is inevitable,” she said. “You’re much older than I, and I know your gut tells you this won’t end well for our people.”

“So, we shouldn’t even try to live in peace? We’re supposed to fight to the last people standing?”

Ada shrugged. “I don’t regret what I did for myself, but if it hurts anyone else, then I’m sorry for that.”

X was gratified to know that she had done the crime for her people and not just to avenge Katrina.

“I loved Katrina,” X said. “I miss her terribly. But I know in my heart she would have wanted us to assimilate peacefully with the Cazadores.”

“I disagree,” Ada said. “She was a warrior. She would have wiped out their soldiers or, at the very least, never allowed them to keep their weapons.”

“You think she would have executed everyone who could fight?”

“I think she would have considered it.”

Ada got off her bed and walked over to the window.

“Are you going to kill me?” she asked with her back turned. “Maybe the way Javier killed DJ? Bash my head in like an animal?”

X could hear his knees complaining as he got off the chair. Getting too old for this shit.

“I still haven’t decided what the hell to do with you, kid. You have put me in a very bad spot.”

“The Cazadores are killers and cannibals,” Ada snarled. “They killed our captain and executed many of my friends, including Bronson, an old man who could hardly walk! We can’t trust them. You can’t trust them.”

She turned from the window, her pretty freckled face illuminated in the moonlight. All trace of the innocence X had once seen in her gaze and joyful smile was gone.

It wasn’t the first time X had seen a young person transformed by death and despair.

“I don’t trust them, kid,” X said.

“Good. Because if I were you, King Xavier, I’d be a lot less worried about what to do with me than about what Santiago plans to do with the crew of Discovery out there in the wastes.”