Captives

NINE

Two days had passed since X boarded the freighter with the Cazador crew. At least, that was how much time he thought had slipped by. But on the surface, time had a way of vanishing without so much as a memory, leaving him wondering.

He had never thought he would feel that way again.

Clenching his fist, he wanted to pound the metal wall of his closet-size cell, but he didn’t need another injury now that everything was healing.

Lifting his leg, he checked the bullet wound on his foot. The gel had worked wonders, and the scab was the only one left on his body. He put a tattered sock back on and brought his knees up to his chest, trying to get comfortable in a room so small he couldn’t even lie down.

The hull groaned as the ship cut through the water. They had hit a patch of rough seas earlier that had him worried they might capsize. X hugged his body for warmth and closed his eyes.

He awoke to footsteps in the passage outside his cell. He put his feet back on the deck and stood, expecting to see the same three-toothed Cazador man who brought him his meals.

Instead, Rhino opened the hatch and ducked down to look at him. Form-fitting armor accentuating his muscular body covered him from boots to neck. He carried a helmet under his arm.

“Get ready,” Rhino said. “We’re almost there.”

X didn’t bother asking where they were. “I’m ready now.”

“Then follow me.” X stepped out into the narrow passage between rusted bulkheads. Several dangling lights flickered, casting shadows and revealing another Cazador soldier in front of an open hatch. He looked at X through a helmet with almond-shaped mirrored lenses.

“In there,” Rhino said.

A breathing apparatus built into the guard’s helmet crackled as the man threw up a hand salute. Rhino gave a nod, then jabbed X in the back, pushing him into an armory.

Racks of weapons secured by ropes covered the right wall. Over a row of lockers hung banners and flags representing different types of fish and, of course, a giant octopus.

On a bench sat two muscular men, putting on armor over tight-fitting black radiation suits. Another guy, already suited up, watched X as he stepped into the room.

“Immortal,” said one of the men sitting on the bench. He finished putting on his armor, stood, and beat a fist against his chest. The other guy followed suit, but the man across the way just stood there like a statue.

“Don’t confuse that with liking you,” Rhino said.

“Got it,” X replied.

Rhino pointed to the two men by the benches. “This is Luke, and Ricardo.” He gestured toward the guy across the way. "That’s Wendig. Cousin of Hammerhead.”

X scratched at the thick stubble on his jaw and resisted the urge to say something snide. There were too many guns in this place to start mouthing off.

“Lo siento,” X said instead, remembering the words for “I’m sorry.”

Wendig strode over, armored chest puffed out like a rooster’s. X could hear the huffing of his breath inside his helmet.

Rhino stepped between them.

“Take it easy,” X said.

Wendig’s helmet turned from Rhino to X, then back to Rhino. He backed away and punched a metal locker, denting it.

“These are three of the soldiers you will be fighting with,” Rhino said. “I will be leading this expedition. You listen to my orders and do what I say, or I promise you, things will not be good when we get back to the Metal Islands.”

X went back to scratching his salt-and-pepper beard.

“Your armor is in the locker over there,” Rhino said, pointing.

X walked over and opened it to find his Hell Diver armor. They must have found it on the WaveRunner.

Rhino gave a proud nod. “Every man should go into battle with the armor he feels comfortable in.”

“So why did you guys make me wear that leather jock strap back at the Sky Arena?” X said, unable to resist.

Rhino cracked a wide grin and then let out a bellowing laugh—the first time X had seen the man show any sort of emotion.

“That was just a test.”

“And this isn’t?” X asked.

“This is a mission. And a test. Now, get dressed.”

X quickly got into the clothing laid out for him and then put on his armor. When he had finished, he laced up his boots, keeping the left one loose over his injured foot.

“You got my weapons, too?” X asked.

Rhino laughed again, more lightly this time. “You think we’re giving you guns so you can shoot us in the back?”

He moved over to a bulkhead with a rack of spears, swords, knives, and the electrical prods that X had seen back in Florida.

Rhino lifted a spear shaft off the rack and broke it in half as if it were an herb stick. He tossed the short shaft to X.

“Just in case you feel like stabbing any of us in the back,” Rhino said. “This way you will have to get very close.”

“If I stab you, it’ll be through the eye, like I did el Pulpo,” X said.

Rhino’s pierced nose flared. He lifted a sword off the rack, but instead of splitting X’s skull with it, he twirled the blade and looked down it to check the edge.

“This should do,” he said. “It’s a solid blade and will split flesh and bone if wielded properly.”

X reached out with his other hand and took the weapon. Rhino tossed him a leather sheath with a strap that he slung over his shoulder.

The other three soldiers, all fully dressed now, turned their helmets toward him, hands on the grips of their carbines. Wendig angled the barrel of a rifle at the deck, not far from X.

“Watch it there, fella,” X said.

Rhino put his helmet on and grabbed his small round shield. An engraving of a long ray-finned fish with gaping jaws and fang-like teeth was engraved in the center.

The other men had the same fish etched into their armor. It had to be some sort of team symbol, like Raptor.

Rhino threw the shield over his shoulder, grabbed a double-bladed spear, and ducked out of the room. The other three soldiers fell in line behind X.

They walked up a ladder to another level, then took a second ladder to an open hatch. Black skies had replaced the bright sun, and X looked out at a sight he had known his entire life.

Lightning pierced the darkness as he climbed out onto the weather deck. Part of him felt that he deserved this, that the sunshine wasn’t supposed to last. He had broken too many promises over the years and failed to save too many people he loved.

He let out a sigh and prepared to do what he did best: fight.

Lieutenant Rhino walked toward a maze of large rectangular crates that blocked the view over the starboard and port sides. A command center rose above the boxes in the center of the ship. Through its filthy windows, X saw the pilot and several other men. Above the bow rose enclosed turrets, manned by Cazador soldiers with flamethrowers and harpoon guns, scanning for hostiles.

In the respite between thunderclaps, X heard the clank of armor, the thud of boots on the deck, and the crash of waves against the bow. He checked his wrist computer and thumbed the monitor. It showed a 51 percent battery level.

Next, he checked his HUD. The temperature was a balmy eighty-five degrees, and radiation levels were in the yellow zone. Luckily, his suit was sealed and all systems appeared to be working.

Raised voices sounded as they entered an open space on deck.

Around the next crate, X saw the source. Standing on the bow between rows of empty cages were a hundred Cazador soldiers, all of them armored and heavily armed. One man held a Minigun with an ammunition belt feeding from a backpack that also had an axe hanging from the side. His armored gloves were fitted with brass knuckles. Another man carried a flamethrower with a tank of fuel on his back.

Behind them, X saw the battlefield: an old-world city, tucked against a sheltered bay. Buildings, including some just shy of what his people would call a scraper, rose toward the storm clouds. Lightning illuminated the ruined structures and the shapes cutting through the sky overhead.

Were these vultures, like those he had seen in the Turks and Caicos Islands? Or something more familiar?

Rhino gestured for X to join him at the helm in front of the small army of soldiers. X did as ordered and stood by the lieutenant’s side. The man carrying a flamethrower and the one with the Minigun stepped up to flank Rhino and X.

Every helmet seemed to focus on the blue glow of his battery unit.

Rhino held up both hands and yelled in Spanish.

He repeated the message in English and then another language that X didn’t recognize, and the Cazador warriors beat their fists against their chest armor.

“Today we embark on a great hunt of the deformed ones, the first in many months. We will bring our trophies back to the Metal Islands, where their flesh will continue to bring our people great strength.”

What a great fucking honor.

Over the mechanical din came the unmistakable electronic wail of a beast that had hunted X all his years on the surface. The male Sirens screeched as they took to the sky, their leathery wings beating the air.

“Those who take the most trophies will bring home the bounty when we return to the Metal Islands,” Rhino continued. “This time, el Pulpo is offering his oldest wife to the winner, to make way for his new bride.”

The soldiers went wild at the offer, and Rhino looked over at X. “The king has only so much room, and he’s got to clear some for his new bride, the sky queen.”

X glared through his visor at Rhino but didn’t take the bait. When he didn’t reply, Rhino added, “Maybe you will win his old wife, Immortal.”

“Or maybe you will die and be eaten and shat out by the deformed ones,” said the man with the flamethrower.

The soldier with the Minigun heaved a laugh that crackled from his breathing apparatus.

X couldn’t see their faces behind the almond-shaped mirror lenses, but he had a feeling they both looked a good deal uglier underneath the helmets. One thing was certain, they didn’t lack for protein in their diets. Both men were giants, almost the size of Rhino.

Maybe that was what you got when you ate humans.

The laughter died down, and Rhino turned to his small army. He raised his hands in the air and, in his booming voice, yelled, “Go! Take your trophies!”

The roar that followed seemed to shake the deck of the ship. Several sailors, dressed in military green, tossed ropes down to the water, where rowboats had already been lowered.

X remained standing beside Rhino while the grunt soldiers moved to the starboard side, eager to begin the hunt.

It was hard for X to imagine men being excited to hunt the beasts that had hunted, terrorized, and killed so many Hell Divers over the years.

He looked up at their prey, soaring over the city, screaming in their electronic discords as they searched for prey of their own.

A light flashed on the horizon, illuminating a silo-shaped building on the coastline. The Sirens changed course, flapping toward what looked like a lighthouse. The Cazadores had activated the beacon.

The hunt was on.

In these wastes, the monsters were no longer the hunters. The humans were, and X was about to see why they called themselves the Cazadores.

“We are above our target,” announced Timothy Pepper. The hologram stood at the helm of the bridge on Deliverance, hands at his sides. “Skies are clear of any major disturbances, sir.”

“Good. Hold us steady,” Michael said.

“Aye, aye, sir.”

Les checked the porthole windows. Storm clouds swelled across the horizon, but the lightning looked sporadic, and Deliverance’s advanced sensors detected a friendly drop zone, according to the AI.

“You’re sure, Timothy?” Les asked. “Last time we were here, this was a sea of lightning.”

“The storm has weakened and moved westward, according to these readings,” Timothy said. “But I will perform several more scans before I lower us over the target.”

“At least, we won’t have to dive this time,” Michael said.

Les looked out the windows toward the ocean below but couldn’t see anything through the darkness. The thought of returning to the place where both Erin and Ramon had lost their lives made him nervous. And his nerves were already taut from other worries.

For the first time in decades, he was away from every member of his family. Katherine had hardly kissed him goodbye when he left, and even Phyl’s hug had felt lighter than normal.

You’re just being paranoid, Les. They love you, and they know you love them.

Soon, they would be reunited, as long as Commander Everhart’s crazy plan worked. For a moment, he tried to picture what life would be like if all the stars aligned and they managed to take the Metal Islands.

Would the losses required to get there be worth it?

Would he sacrifice himself so his family could live out its days on the surface?

Living in the sunshine, on the crystal-clear water, breathing fresh air. It seemed like a dream. And to get there, he would have to fight his way through a nightmare.

You can’t think that way. Failure starts with doubt. Trey and you will survive. You have to survive, for the fate of humanity.

“Lieutenant, come take a look at this one last time,” Michael said.

Les crossed the bridge, glad for the interruption. He hovered behind a station where Layla and Michael studied the blueprints of the defectors that Timothy had downloaded. Michael believed that the three of them could reprogram the machines after shutting them down, but Les wasn’t so sure. He had a background in electrical engineering, not artificial intelligence.

That’s what Timothy is here for, I guess.

“This is their central nervous system,” Layla said, looking at the display.

Les took a seat and examined the layout. The humanoid machines had hard, flexible spines, just like humans, and a network of wires analogous to human veins.

“We built them to look like us,” he said.

“But they aren’t anything like us,” Layla said. “They are programmed for one thing only: killing.”

“Right, which is why we need them.” Michael clicked on the screen to pull up an inside view of the metal-encased brain. “The question is, how do we program them to kill only Cazador soldiers.”

“That’s where Timothy comes in,” Layla said.

“I will program them to destroy only those humans who pose a threat and are carrying weapons.”

“And if some kid picks up a gun?” Michael asked.

“I can stipulate that they don’t target anyone below a certain age group,” Timothy replied, “but there is no guarantee.”

No one spoke until Michael broke the silence by tapping the screen. “The defectors have a supercomputer the size of a fingernail, encased in a titanium-alloy skull. The rest of the endoskeleton is a lab-created hyperalloy metal.”

“That explains why our bullets didn’t do shit at Red Sphere,” Layla said. “Good thing we have the laser rifle.”

“With luck, we won’t need it,” Michael said. He closed his eyes, no doubt feeling another wave of pain in an arm that wasn’t there.

Layla had been by his side the entire time. “You sure you’re up for this?” she asked.

Michael nodded with a slight grimace. “The arm is almost fully healed thanks to the nanotechnology. It’s just these damn phantom pains.” He looked down at the stump, then back to Les and Layla. “You guys ready?”

Layla nodded.

“Ready as I’m going to be,” Les replied. “But I do have a question for Timothy about that EMP bomb. I’m an electrician by trade, so please explain how we’ll be able to bring the machines back online after we fry them.”

“Good question, Lieutenant,” Timothy said. “The exoskeleton protects their interior parts from EMP weapons, but their batteries are vulnerable. Theoretically, the EMP bomb should shut them down, and before restarting them, we will reprogram them.”

“It’s a good plan,” Michael said.

Les wasn’t sure whether Michael was seeking agreement or trying to convince himself. And while Les didn’t like a mission with such a theoretical outcome, he couldn’t see any better options. If the defectors could save human soldiers from going into battle, then so be it.

“Timothy, prepare to drop the EMP bomb on my order,” Michael said. “We’re headed out.”

“Roger, sir. And good luck.”

Michael moved over to the comms station. “All hands, this is Commander Everhart. We are preparing to descend over the target. Please get to your designated stations.”

The three divers left Timothy standing in the center of the bridge. Their first stop was the armory, where they prepared their gear and suited up.

Unlike on other dives, they weren’t sending down any supply crates. Everything they needed was going down attached to them. Most of it was electrical equipment and weapons, although Les doubted that bullets would have any more effect on the defectors than last time, should they encounter any that withstood the EMP blast.

Suiting up took longer than normal, with Layla helping Michael get into his armor. She finished by giving him two painkillers. He swallowed them with a gulp of water.

“I’m good,” Michael said confidently when he saw Les scrutinizing him.

The commander tucked his ponytail into the back of his armor, grabbed his bag, and led them back into the passageway to the cargo bay. Timothy’s white glow illuminated the dim space.

“The most recent weather scan has revealed only a slight electrical disturbance in the drop zone,” he said. “In other words, we should be fine to descend.”

Famous last words, Les thought. He walked through the hatch of the cargo bay, recalling the time Timothy had malfunctioned here upon seeing his dead family.

The memory only added to Les’ anxiety, and he hesitated as he approached the launch bay doors. Michael and Layla were already there, waiting with their gear bags on the platform.

Les slung his carbine over his shoulder and carried his packs out.

You dive so your family survives, he reminded himself.

“System checks,” Michael said.

“Raptor Two online,” Layla replied.

Les checked his HUD and systems one last time. “Raptor Four online.”

Timothy joined the divers by the door and looked down at the lift gate they were standing on. His shape flickered, and for a second Les tensed up, worried that Timothy might have another episode.

The AI’s form solidified, and he pulled at the cuffs of his suit jacket. “The EMP bomb is prepped and ready to drop, Commander.”

“Execute,” Michael replied.

A distant clank sounded, but no explosion or blast followed—only the dull vibration of the ship’s engines under their boots.

“How long until we know if it worked?” Layla asked.

“Only a few minutes for my infrared sensors to scan,” Timothy said.

“Weren’t these models designed with stealth technology aimed at reducing infrared signatures?” Michael asked.

“Good question, Commander. And yes, they were, but I’ve reprogrammed the sensors on Deliverance to look for the faint exhaust plume that the battery on the DEF-Nine units produces. It’s one of their only flaws.”

It didn’t sound foolproof to Les, but it did make him feel a little better.

They waited in silence, listening to the hum of mechanical systems and the distant roll of thunder. As Les stood there, a memory from his last trip to Red Sphere surfaced, but he pushed it aside.

“I’m detecting a complete blackout on and below the surface of Red Sphere,” Timothy said. “The EMP bomb successfully fried the grid and shut down the defectors. There is no trace of an exhaust plume from any of my scans, which means the machines still down there are, as you say, toast.”

“You’re sure?” Layla asked.

“One hundred percent positive. However, if it makes you feel better, I will scan one more time once we descend to the piers.”

“Okay, take us down,” Michael said.

The three divers moved over to the bulkhead, where they secured their gear bags and strapped into the bucket seats.

For the next few minutes, Les watched the porthole windows. Lightning traced the skyline, leaving behind its residual blue image on his retinas. The deck groaned as they lowered over Red Sphere. Les watched their altitude tick down and down.

At a thousand feet, Timothy held the ship steady. “Performing a final infrared scan,” he said.

Les flinched as light flashed outside the cargo bay. Thunder followed, easing his fears of a bolt from a laser rifle.

“All clear, Commander Everhart,” Timothy said.

Michael unclicked his harness, and Layla helped him sling his backpack. They cradled their weapons and moved over to the cargo bay door. It clanked open, revealing black clouds and a dark ocean.

Les stepped up to the ledge and looked at the piers surrounding Red Sphere. Several ships remained docked. Debris from an explosion surrounded the central structure.

Deliverance continued to lower over the landing zone. The draft of air from the turbofans hit the concrete docks, whipping up dust and debris. Les stepped closer to the edge, feeling a lead weight in his gut.

Layla grabbed his armor and pulled him back.

“Easy there, Lieutenant,” she said over the comms.

He stepped back to look at the derelict concrete, checking the green field of his night vision for movement. The front of the facility had collapsed, scattering chunks of concrete out across one of the piers.

They would have to find another way in.

“Extending the platform,” Timothy said. “Please proceed with caution.”

Les walked down the ramp with an injured, overzealous Hell Diver; a woman young enough be his daughter; and an AI that had gone crazy at least once. Their mission: to infiltrate a dark facility that housed killer machines, and then reprogram those machines to kill Cazadores.

What could possibly go wrong?