Captives

FIFTEEN

The divers at Red Sphere had spent the past hour trying to open the steel door into the labs. Somewhere on the other side was an organic life-form that Timothy Pepper continued to detect in his scans.

Michael had a feeling the AI was right about it not being a spider. Their scans were picking up something else, something bigger, and he had to figure out what before they moved any deeper into the facility to find the defectors.

Les disconnected his minicomputer from the control manual and shook his head. “I can’t hack it, man.”

Michael swore under his breath. He was starting to lose patience. Nothing was going right. The pain meds had already worn off, and his bandage needed changed. On top of that, he was due for another round of ghost pains.

Think positive. You’re going to be just fine. Not an easy thing to do here in the very place he had lost his arm. But too much was at stake to let anxiety and pain mess with his head. X had suffered far worse than this, for far longer.

It was time to get serious about this shit.

Michael held up plan C: the laser rifle. “Everyone back,” he said.

“You’re kidding, right?” Les asked.

“You got a better idea?” Michael asked. “Come on, get behind the wall.”

The team moved back down the passage and around the corner. Even Timothy vanished and then rejoined them behind the barrier.

“Commander, all due respect, but I have more experience with that weapon,” Les said. “If we’re going to do this, best to let me.”

“Be my guest,” Michael said, handing it over.

“Try this one,” Layla said. “Just so we know it works.”

Les took the new rifle from her and moved around the corner to check the target. “If the laser bolts cut through, I’ll try and make us a smaller door, but make sure you guys stay back.”

“Be careful, Giraffe,” Layla said. “And make it big enough for you to get through.”

That got a weak chuckle, which ended in silence as Les crouched with half his body behind the corner, and half in the hallway. Then he lined up the iron sights and pulled the trigger. The brilliant line hit the door, bathing the corridor in a red glow.

“It’s working!” Les said.

A minute later, the door came crashing down on the concrete, shaking the floor and echoing through the space. Michael cringed at the noise.

“If any of those things are still ticking, they know we’re here now,” Layla said.

Timothy reappeared, and his voice came over the comms. “Still not detecting any exhaust plumes. But the organic signal is stronger.”

While the other divers listened and scanned their HUDs for movement, Michael moved around the corner to see the glowing red outline of a doorway inside the door.

Les handed the laser rifle back to Layla as Michael sucked water from the straw in his helmet and waited for a wave of dizziness to pass. Then, taking point, he approached the opening cautiously, flitting his helmet beam across the dark lab.

Dust particles, stirred by the crashing steel door, danced like snowflakes in their headlamp beams as they entered what appeared to be an undisturbed space. Four separate rooms, all blocked off by glass walls and secure doors, made up the labs.

As they progressed deeper, Michael saw that the four sections were just half the space. Through another glass wall, he could see two more walled-off sections. In both rooms, white suits hung from hooks on the racks, and coiled red cords dangled from the ceiling.

He checked the room on his right, which contained white lab tables and several chairs. But there were no cobwebs—or evidence of any other living thing, for that matter. The high-tech lab appeared to have done exactly what it was designed to do: keep even the most microscopic particles out—or in.

The thought made him shiver as he brought up his hand and signaled the team to check out the first four sections. He went left, directing his helmet beam at the enclosed glass space filled with several dozen three-foot-tall stasis chambers.

Each of these glass cylinders contained murky green liquid. Skeletal remains rested on the bottom of one of them, but the water was too clouded for him to make out the species.

“Over here,” Michael said over the comms.

Layla and Les joined him outside the glass wall.

“Gross,” Layla said.

Les shined his beam inside. “What are those?”

“No idea,” Michael replied. “Timothy, where is that signal coming from?”

“I can’t get an exact location, but it should be somewhere inside this room.”

Michael moved to the next glass enclosure, where eight metal vats were lined up against a gray wall. The lids were closed, and thick electrical cables ran up to a bank of boxes that once fed them power.

“This must be where Dr. Julio Diaz worked,” Les said quietly.

“Maybe we’ll finally learn what that work was,” Layla replied.

Michael really didn’t give a damn what the doctor did. He just wanted to figure out what was making the signal, then find the machines so they could get the hell out of here.

He moved past several lab stations. On the long tables were microscopes, computers, and trays of vials. Several robotic machines with spiderlike arms were huddled in the corner of the room.

“Looks like an operation area,” Layla said. “Maybe they used it for experiments.”

They moved on to the final walled-off area, their headlamps shooting through the glass and illuminating a clean room where scientists had once prepped to enter the lab.

A faint clanking noise pulled Michael back the way they had come. His beam hit the opening Les had cut in the door.

“Did you hear something?” Michael asked.

Layla and Les shook their heads. He motioned for them to return to the first section of labs, where the stasis chambers were sealed off.

“See if you can hack this door,” Michael said to Les.

Les hooked up his patch cords and began the process while Michael and Layla walked around the glass walls, shining their lights into the chambers beyond. Cables ran up from the floor to the chambers they had once powered to keep the contents alive.

There were twenty chambers, all filled with the same murky fluid that kept him from seeing what else they contained. He went back to the one with the bones that could be a small human skeleton.

“A child,” he whispered.

A click sounded.

“Got it,” Les said.

The divers met Timothy outside, where his hologram spread a bright glow through the open room.

“Stay sharp,” Michael said.

They fanned out down the aisles of stasis chambers, their light beams flitting back and forth. Michael headed straight for the cylinder with the child-size remains. He used his gloved hand to wipe off the glass, but that didn’t help any.

There was only one way to see what was inside.

“Everyone out of the room,” Michael said.

“Why?” Layla asked. “What are you going to do?”

He raised his laser rifle, prompting Les to gently pull Layla away. Michael waited until they were outside the glass walls. Then, back-stepping a few feet, he aimed the laser rifle and pulled the trigger.

Glass exploded, and fluid sloshed onto the floor, pushing Michael back a few more steps. All that remained on the floor of the stasis chamber was the skeleton.

He had stepped around the puddle to examine the remains when he again heard the mysterious clanking noise. He glanced over his shoulder at Les and Layla, who both nodded. They had heard it this time.

It came again a few beats later, louder this time—a mechanical noise, not something an organic life-form would make.

“Timothy,” Michael whispered over the comm channel. “Are you picking up any exhaust plumes?”

“Negative, Commander.”

Stepping back from the bones inside the destroyed chamber, Michael walked carefully around the skirt of broken glass and green fluid.

The laser bolt had bored through another cylinder and the metal wall behind it, where a red hole glowed. He stopped a few feet away and bent down to direct his light at the opening. The beam penetrated into what appeared to be another room.

“Check this out,” Michael said. He made his way around the final two chambers and found a door he had missed earlier, hidden in the shadows in the corner, behind several other vats.

“That signature is getting stronger,” Timothy said.

Layla and Les stopped outside the new door.

“I didn’t see this earlier,” Layla said quietly.

“Me, either,” Michael replied. “Les, see if you can get it open.”

While Les again unpacked his minicomputer and patch cords, Michael moved over to the still red-hot opening in the wall and looked through it.

The helmet beam illuminated another lab, full of larger stasis chambers, but unlike the smaller ones, the liquid inside these cylinders wasn’t green, and the remains weren’t skeletal.

“Mother of God,” Michael whispered.

Inside each chamber was suspended a naked man or woman. Cords were attached to their extremities.

The door to the lab clicked, unlocked, and Les stepped away.

“What?” he asked, oblivious to what Michael was seeing through the hole.

Layla stepped up to the open doorway. “Holy wastes!” she gasped. “What in the apocalypse are those?”

Michael moved over to examine the stasis chambers inside the room. The new angle gave him a view of several bodies that didn’t appear totally human after all. Some had mechanical limbs and even heads that looked… robotic.

“Guess we finally know what Dr. Diaz was doing here,” Layla whispered.

Les stared for a moment and then shook his head. “I had a bad feeling about coming back here. Looks like I was right.”

Timothy reappeared in the entryway of the room, his glow spreading outward and illuminating more of the chambers.

“Commander, I have a theory on what we’re seeing here,” the AI said.

“What’s that?”

“Hybrids.”

“Hybrids?” Layla asked.

“Yes, and I believe most of them were still alive and hooked up to backup power before we dropped the EMP bomb.”

Layla shook her head. “No, that can’t be.”

“You’re saying we killed them?” Les asked.

“Not all of them,” Timothy replied. “I’ve pinpointed the location of the organic life-form.”

“Show us,” Michael said.

The three divers followed the AI, weapons up, beams playing over the chambers containing the human-machine hybrids.

Timothy moved down the center aisle and stopped beside one of the vats. The man inside was so wrinkled from age and immersion that his skin looked like a dried piece of fruit. His bald head had slumped against his chest, exposing a smooth metal crown. Most of this man was now machine. Only the arms, chest, and head remained human.

Unlike the other bodies, this ancient man wasn’t wearing a breathing apparatus—probably because he didn’t have lungs, Michael realized.

“So where is it?” Layla asked as she walked around the other chambers. “I don’t see any live ones.”

“Right here,” Timothy said. He turned his holographic body toward the man in the chamber in front of Michael.

Layla stared. “He’s still…?”

The hybrid slowly opened his eyelids, looking out with one human eye and one mechanical eye that roved from Les to Michael. When it focused on the holographic shape of Timothy, the human eye widened, and the robotic eye glowed orange.

“Holy shit,” Les said, backing away. “What the heck is this thing?”

Michael stayed where he was, watching the old man squirm inside the vat, his wrinkled skin like plastic. He tried to speak, bubbles bursting from his mouth. The terror in his features and movements was difficult to watch.

This man had suffered for God knew how long.

The hybrid’s lips continued to move, trying to speak to the divers. He squirmed against the restraints holding him in the vat.

“This is wrong,” Les said. “I really think we should get out of here.”

The hybrid managed to raise a hand, putting his palm against the glass. A stream of bubbles burst out of his mouth as his lips moved and the robotic eye flashed an angry orange.

“Timothy, can you make out what he’s saying?” Michael asked.

There was a long pause from the AI before he replied.

“Yes, Commander,” Timothy replied. “He’s repeating, ‘Destroy me… destroy me… before I kill you all.’”

Throughout dinner, the clanking of hammers and the whine of electrical equipment played like some undisciplined, atonal band. And it appeared to be music to el Pulpo’s ears. He watched the construction crews as he mowed through his three courses of fish, ham, and chicken. He was plainly delighted at the work being done on the rig.

To Magnolia, the noise was grating and unpleasant, but at least it distracted el Pulpo’s attention from her. She picked at her food as the crews worked into the night on the prison that would hold her people captive.

Under the table, Miles whined as if he knew what it meant for his friends. She could tell he was itching to rip his handler’s throat out, but there was nothing he could do against the spiked collar.

By the time the moon was high in the open bowl of sky above them, el Pulpo had downed his sixth goblet of wine. He got up from the table, the feet of his chair shrieking on the metal deck.

Then he lumbered over to the hatch leading belowdecks—to relieve himself, Magnolia assumed. She remained at the table, looking at the dead fish that stared back from her plate. The past few hours had been torture, but at least, thanks to the distractions, she wasn’t forced to carry on much of a conversation with the bastard.

He didn’t seem interested in what she had to say, anyway. Imulah had translated the few things el Pulpo said to her. Simple questions about her former life on the Hive, which she answered in the fewest words possible while the king stared at her breasts.

She glanced back at the scribe, who remained standing near the rail of the boat, flanked on either side by the two Cazador guards. They hadn’t taken their eyes off her the entire night. Behind them, beyond the barbed wire that spiraled above the rail, the pilot of the speedboat that had ferried Magnolia here watched from his vessel.

There was nowhere to run.

She looked at the oil rig. Sparks showered into the water from a metal gate two men were welding out of pipe. Rodger was up there somewhere, helping build the cages.

The sight sucked the spirit out of her. She felt numb, weak.

The will to fight had drained away. Years ago, when she had gone to the brig on the Hive for stealing, she had felt trapped. That dreadful feeling had returned. Her heart ached, and her stomach churned with anxiety.

She had joined the Hell Divers to get out of prison, even though it meant she would probably die on a dive. But she hadn’t. She had survived by fighting tooth and nail, only to end up a prisoner once more.

This time, however, she feared what would happen if she didn’t cooperate with the Cazadores, more than she ever feared dying on a dive. Back then she didn’t have anyone to care about. No one would have mourned her if she splattered on the surface, and she wouldn’t have lost any sleep over the death of anyone around her.

But now she had Rodger, X, Miles, Tin, Layla, Katrina, and Les. They were all counting on her. They were more than friends. They had become her family.

Cooperating with her captors could help them, maybe even save them. But it also meant betraying what she was: a fighter.

The hatch to the Sea Wolf opened, and for a moment she pictured X stepping out onto the deck. But it was just el Pulpo ducking under the hatch frame, his unbuttoned shirt blowing in the breeze, his muscles glistening with sweat.

He returned to the table holding something under his arm. When he sat in his chair, he pulled a knife from the sheath on his belt and used the tip to pick food from between his sharp yellowed teeth. He flicked a bit of meat down at Miles, who licked it off the deck.

Sick bastard.

She hadn’t seen them feed the husky at all since she arrived. No wonder he was so hungry. Before anyone could stop her, she grabbed the hunk of fish off her plate and tossed it down to him.

This earned her a glare from el Pulpo, and then a laugh. He took the black object from under his arm and set it on the table. It looked like a hard drive. He pushed it over to Magnolia, and she leaned closer for a better look.

“Our lord wants you to know that we found your friend yesterday,” Imulah said.

“Friend?” she said quietly. Staring at the hard drive, she realized that the friend was Timothy. The AI’s consciousness and programming were stored on this drive, which was effectively his brain.

Before she could pull it away, el Pulpo stabbed the hard drive with his knife, then tossed it overboard.

“No!” Magnolia shouted.

The assemblage of digital programming and memory that had been Timothy sank into the water. A tear welled in her eye, but she forced it back, not wanting to give this filth the satisfaction.

“Our lord now wants to know if you’re ready for the final course,” Imulah said. “I believe your people would call it dessert.”

“No,” she snapped. “I’m not feeling very well.”

The scribe translated her words, much to el Pulpo’s annoyance. He frowned and fixed his eye on her as if trying to look into her guts for a lie.

Magnolia turned away.

“You should drink more wine before you go to the room downstairs that has been prepared for your first night together,” Imulah said. These were his words, she realized—not something el Pulpo had told him to say.

“It will make you feel much better,” the scribe added.

Magnolia nearly gagged.

Did you see that, you repulsive lump of Siren scat?

El Pulpo picked up his goblet. Chugging down the remaining wine, he slammed the glass on the table and continued watching her. This time, Magnolia followed Imulah’s advice, hoping it would make her rape by the cannibal king less awful.

Sofia was right about the wine: it did help numb the senses.

“I’ll be back with his final course in a moment,” Imulah said. He left them at the table and made his way belowdecks.

“¿Estás enferma?” el Pulpo said.

Magnolia glanced across the table and was surprised to see his features soften. She wasn’t sure what he was trying to say, but he almost seemed concerned for her welfare.

She wasn’t buying it.

“¿Estás enferma?” he asked again, patting his belly.

She shook her head, not understanding.

A few minutes later, the scribe returned carrying a tray with a covered dish. He placed it in front of el Pulpo, who plucked the lid off a plate full of slimy fish eyes. They all seemed to be staring at Magnolia.

“You sure you don’t want some?” Imulah asked. “It’s a delicacy.”

Magnolia forced herself to look away as el Pulpo slurped one down without chewing. He continued popping eyeballs into his mouth as if they were candy jam from the Hive, while she sat and waited, her guts cramping with anxiety.

The minutes ticked by, drawing her ever closer to the dreaded consummation of her “marriage” to the cannibal king.

The rumble of a boat motor snapped her out of her doom-ridden thoughts. She twisted in her chair as the soldiers moved away from the railing back to the stern. The beams of two WaveRunners flickered over the water as they sped toward the armada of small craft.

The lights hit the Sea Wolf, and both soldiers leveled their weapons. El Pulpo grunted, clearly not happy about being interrupted just before taking his bride belowdecks.

She eyed the fork beside her plate and once again considered driving it through his remaining eye, deep into that demented brain.

The two WaveRunners slowed, and the soldiers guarding the king relaxed when they saw it was just more Cazadores. They slung their rifles and threw ropes to the riders.

Both men got off their WaveRunners and jumped onto the landing pad, where they raised goggles from their filthy faces and boarded the Sea Wolf. El Pulpo belched and walked over, his arms folded across his muscular chest.

“¿Qué pasa?” he asked.

They spoke fast in Spanish, making it impossible for Magnolia to make out any of the words except one: “Inmortal.”

Whatever they said next made El Pulpo furious. He pulled his knife from the sheath on his belt and threw it across the boat, sinking it deep into the cabin behind Magnolia.

He turned back to her, giving her the elevator eye. Then he snorted and pushed one of the soldiers out of the way. The man fell onto the deck as his lord stepped to the landing and jumped onto one of the WaveRunners.

The driver of the speedboat started his engines. One of the Cazador soldiers from the Sea Wolf jumped on, and the other man returned to his WaveRunner.

The third soldier remained standing next to Imulah, both of them looking at Magnolia. She watched as the vessels sped away after el Pulpo.

Delighted though she was at the reprieve, she couldn’t help wondering what was so urgent that he would leave her and the fish eyes he so loved.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

The scribe walked over to the table but didn’t take a seat. He picked up a large eyeball and chewed it slowly before spitting out the hard round lens, which bounced like a marble on the deck.

“Two of our vessels have gone missing,” he said. “It could have been a storm, but there was no SOS. They just went dark.”

“What about X? They mentioned him, I think.”

Imulah stroked his beard. “You are starting to pick up our language, I see.”

“Tell me what el Pulpo said.” Magnolia paused, then added, “Please.”

“The Cazador warriors have finished their hunt, but apparently the Barracudas haven’t returned. The Immortal was with that team.”

The scribe took another fish eye and gestured toward the hatch with it still in his hand. “Since you’re not feeling well, you can go lie down belowdecks to rest. I’m not sure when our lord will be back.”

She looked out over the waves, the guilt of her complacency eating her insides. Timothy was gone now, and whether or not he had been able to communicate with the airships before, he certainly couldn’t share any intel now. On top of that, X was out there fighting, or possibly even dead, and she had all but given up her own fight.

No more, she thought. When he gets back—and he will come back—I will fight for humanity. I will fight for our people.