Ghosts

FIFTEEN

As he walked to the holding cell, Jordan felt something give way inside of him. He’d been struggling for years trying to keep a balance between making sacrifices to save the human race and being able to look himself in the mirror. Some days those lines blurred. Today was one of them.

He pulled at his sleeves, brushed off his uniform, and ducked under the lightbulb hanging overhead as he sat. Crossing one leg over the other, he studied the woman he should have disposed of a long time ago. She sat on the floor of the small isolation cell with her back to the bulkhead. Hair covered the right half of her face, and her eyes were downcast.

“Captain Ash lobbied hard to save your life. I really wish she were here to see you now.” Jordan leaned down. “Maybe she would see how wrong she was about you.”

Janga jerked her wrists, pulling on the chains that kept her bound. She flung her white hair to the side and stared at him with clouded eyes.

Jordan smiled with what felt a lot like satisfaction. He had her attention.

“You’ll never be the captain she was,” Janga said, spitting at him.

He backhanded her across the face so hard that the noise reverberated through the room. She let out a moan and fell to the floor.

Jordan pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the spittle from his face. He didn’t particularly like interrogating people, and usually left it up to the militia, but he was going to enjoy this. Janga was poison, and he was finally going to cleanse the ship of her toxic prophecies.

“Look at me,” he said.

Janga turned slowly, her rheumy eyes radiating disdain.

Jordan cracked another grin that was actually more of a grimace as he walked to the other side of the tiny room. “You’re going to make this hard, aren’t you?”

She watched him move, clicking her tongue in reply.

“I’ll give you one chance to tell me everything you know before I bring out the…” He made quotes in the air. “Tools.”

“You think you’re clever, don’t you?” the old woman said. “You actually believe you can keep the Hive flying forever.”

He folded his arms across his chest and raised his eyebrows. Despite his eagerness to be rid of her, he was curious to hear what she had to say.

“I’ve seen the restricted ITC files. I know what they did during the war, what they created. You’ve seen those files, too, but what you don’t seem to realize is something that Captain Ash apparently never taught you.” Janga scooted closer to him. “I guess that’s the problem. You can’t teach a narcissist to have an imagination.”

Jordan clenched his jaw. “If I’m lacking imagination, why don’t you inform me what I’m missing?”

She shook her head. “I don’t teach fools what should be obvious.”

Jordan went to hit the wall but decided it wasn’t worth his energy. He forced his shoulders to relax, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a pistol cartridge. He dropped it on the floor in front of her. “You see that? I was going to put it into your skull myself, but I’ve decided not to waste it. No, I have other plans for you.”

Janga hissed at him like the feral animal that he knew she was. He walked back to the wall.

“You know, it wasn’t hard convincing most everyone that you’re a washed-up old hag with more screws loose than the ship, but you just had to keep opening your mouth, didn’t you? Had to keep fishing for information, had to keep digging.”

Janga gave a hollow chuckle. “You really have no clue, do you? You have no idea that some of your crew actually came to me for advice. Even some of your precious Hell Divers.”

“Who? Katib?” Jordan adjusted the cuff of his spotless white jacket. “She’s been dealt with.”

“Hell Divers, plural,” she said.

The words hit Jordan in his gut. That couldn’t be true. The divers all respected him. They would never go behind his back.

“You can’t lie to me. I have eyes and ears all over the ship.”

“Not enough of them, clearly. I spoke to three of your people just recently.”

Jordan stepped away from the wall and bent down closer to her. “Names,” he snarled.

Janga chuckled again. “I’d rather die than tell you.”

“I can arrange that, but before I do, I’m going to make you beg for death.” He walked over to the hatch and knocked twice.

“Tools, Sergeant,” Jordan said when Jenkins opened the hatch.

Jenkins returned with a small bag and handed it through. After shutting the hatch, Jordan set the bag on the chair and unzipped it. He had never used the tools before and didn’t particularly want to now, but he couldn’t lose control of his ship. He had to know who had betrayed him.

“You’re going to tell me exactly who came to visit you, or things are going to get very unpleasant.”

She hesitated a moment, lips quivering, but when she spoke, her voice was resolute.

“When I’m gone, there won’t be anyone left on this ship to give the people hope. That’s why I made sure my prophecy will live on. They will know the truth about the surface and where we will find our new home, and they will hear about the man who will lead them there. And before you get any grandiose ideas in your head, no, you are not that man.”

A knock sounded, and Jordan turned to see Jenkins open the hatch.

“Sir, the launch bay has been activated. Two tubes.”

Jordan stood. “What? Under whose orders?”

“No one’s orders, sir. It looks like Michael Everhart and Layla Brower are doing this on their own.”

When Jordan whirled back to Janga, she was smiling. Her grin set him over the edge. He was done wasting time on her.

“You think it’s funny, eh? We’ll see how funny it is when I put you in a tube and shoot you back to the surface that you hold so dear.”

Weaver made his way through the water treatment plant, searching for the missing diver. He kept one hand on his rifle and the other on his battery unit, prepared to pull it if the Sirens surrounded him.

Andrew’s howls of pain had lapsed into silence, and the screeches of the monsters were sporadic now. They were inside the plant somewhere, but Weaver still couldn’t see the creatures in the cavernous space.

He had never been in such a large room in his entire life. The beam from his light didn’t even penetrate far enough through the inky darkness to reach the far wall.

He raked the light across the wide pools of water lining his path. A red sludge floated near the edges of the pool to his right. As he bent down to examine it, he heard the skittering of claws across the walls.

Standing up, he dug his fingers under the battery unit, ready to pry it free. The sound faded away. He walked a few more steps, stopped, and aimed his headlamp at the walls. As he took another step, the beam flickered, so he reached up to tap it gently. That did the trick, and a solid beam split the darkness all the way to the other side of the room.

Weaver halted at the sight of the first Siren. It emerged from the center of a bulb-like cocoon and tilted its conical, eyeless head. With two bony arms, it pulled itself past the thick bristles lining the lip of the nest, like some grotesque insect hunting for prey. The cocoon was one of dozens hanging from the ceiling.

Shadows fanned out across the wall below, and a long wail echoed through the space. Then, before Weaver could pull his battery unit, he glimpsed something else suspended among the nests.

He had found Andrew.

The diver’s helmet had fallen onto his chest, and as Weaver examined the body with his light, his breath caught. The muscular arms and legs that had earned Andrew the nickname “Pipe” looked like strands of rawhide. The beasts were plucking his bones raw. A waterfall of congealed blood streaked down the wall, and smaller Sirens were lapping it up from the floor.

Several of the creatures tilted their heads in Weaver’s direction, and a high screech echoed off the walls as the monsters homed in on him. He stumbled backward, eyes locked on what remained of Andrew.

“Pipe, I’m so sorry,” he said softly.

A beast poked its head out of a nest above and squawked at the smaller Sirens. They chirped back and climbed up into the nest.

The sudden realization staggered him: those things were children.

With their offspring now protected, the rest of the pack skittered down the wall, led by the same hulking abomination Weaver had seen outside. If these things had a leader, this was surely it. A pair of wings unfolded from the giant’s back, and it took to the air just as its minions dropped to all fours and charged.

If Weaver didn’t get moving, he was going to be their next meal. But first he had unfinished business with the huge beast that had taken Andrew.

Raising his rifle, Weaver took a shot that punched through a leathery wing. Concrete chips and dust rained down from the ceiling to the pool of water below.

The creature swooped away, and Weaver trained the muzzle on the small pack clambering across the platforms toward him. A three-round burst to the midsection sent one spinning into the water. It thrashed to stay afloat, but apparently, these skeletal beasts with no body fat didn’t swim very well.

Weaver took down another as it climbed to the top of a walkway over the pools. The rounds took off one of its arms, and it plummeted screeching into the pool with the other monster. Both slipped beneath the surface, unable to stay afloat.

After firing off two quick bursts at a pair of Sirens galloping toward him, he swung the muzzle upward, looking for the winged devil. Blood painted the floor, and the other beasts slid in it, crashing into one another in a tangle of limbs and claws and leathery flesh.

Heavy wingbeats came from somewhere to the left, though his light revealed nothing but the derelict platforms and walls covered in nests. He checked the pack struggling over the wet floor—eight of them, and they were almost on him. He didn’t have enough ammunition or time to kill them all, leaving him with two options: take his battery pack out and jump into one of the pools, or run for the exit and hope he got there first.

It was a tough call. He wasn’t as fast as he used to be, and he couldn’t swim. Drowning in ten feet of water wasn’t the best way to die, but it beat getting torn to shreds.

Weaver raked the oncoming pack with a sweep of automatic fire. Some of the rounds went wide, but many found targets. The mortally wounded beasts flopped on the concrete by the pools, while the rest kept coming. When the magazine in his rifle was spent, he pulled his sidearm. The pop of small-arms fire did little to deter the others. Gunfire wasn’t going to save him.

He squeezed off several more shots at the closest Sirens, thinning the pack further, then turned and sprinted for the exit doors. As he crossed the space, a guttural cry rose over the screeches of the pursuing monsters.

No, it couldn’t be.

The sound came again, and this time he had no doubt. This was not the mindless wail of a Siren, but a human voice, crying out a single word that sounded like hell.

Weaver glanced over his shoulder and directed his headlamp at the wall, where Andrew was lifting what remained of his right arm. The jagged stump pointed toward Weaver, stopping him midstride.

Despite all odds, Pipe was still alive.

“Shoot me!” he screamed.

Weaver raised his rifle to do what he should have done outside, when he had the chance to end Andrew’s suffering before it began. He lined up the crosshairs on his comrade’s chest and pulled the trigger. The round punched through Andrew’s armor, and his helmet slumped onto his chest.

Weaver didn’t have time to mourn. He barely had time to brace himself as the flying behemoth slammed into him from the side. The impact lifted him off the ground. Arms windmilling, he flew backward, losing both guns.

In what seemed like slow motion, the Siren flapped up toward the ceiling, revealing a hideously muscular torso. Weaver fell backward, clenching his jaw in anticipation, but instead of hitting hard concrete, his back found a mattress of water.

He hit the pool with a splash. Bubbles rose overhead as he thrashed and kicked, the beam from his helmet cutting through the murky water as he sank. Above the surface, the winged beast flapped down and landed on the edge of the pool. Furling its wings, it perched and waited. Several smaller dark shapes joined it.

Weaver rolled to his side, kicking and pulling at the water, but this was literally the first time he had ever tried to swim. It didn’t help that he was weighed down by the dense plates of armor. He took in a long, slow breath, knowing that his helmet had only a half hour of filtered air. His life support system had shut off the air filter the moment it submerged.

His frantic efforts to swim to the other side of the pool got him nowhere. Then his boots hit the bottom. He righted himself and directed his helmet light toward the surface. The beasts prowled above, waiting for him to surface.

If he wanted to live, he would have to find a way to climb out the far side of the pool and dash for the exit. But without his rifle and pistol, he wasn’t going to last long out there. The blaster at his hip was waterlogged, and he doubted the homemade shells would fire. Unless he could find his other guns, he would have to fend the beasts off with his blade.

The odds seemed insurmountable, but that had never stopped him before.

He drew in a breath and turned slowly, searching the pool for a way out. Lifting his right leg, he took a step forward. It was slow going, but at least he could walk. On the third step, his boot hit something that rolled across the floor. He angled his lamp down at a pile of slime-covered sticks resting on the bottom. He stepped over them but soon crunched onto another pile.

Weaver angled his light down and saw that they weren’t sticks at all.

They were bones. Human bones.

Long bones, rib cages, and skulls had been dumped into the pool and were covered in the same red sludge he had seen earlier.

Weaver halted at the sight. He had finally discovered the remains of the people from ITC Communal 13—and, in the process, a way out of the pool. It felt wrong to climb over the dead, but he wasn’t yet ready to join them.

Michael secured his battery pack in the chest slot of his armor. Ty, the Hell Divers’ longtime launch technician, was not happy about prepping the tubes without orders.

“You have to trust me, Ty,” Michael said. “A lot of lives depend on us. Layla and I have no choice but to dive.”

“But Captain Jordan—”

“Fuck Captain Jordan,” Layla spat. “He’s going to get us all killed, starting with the team he just sent to the surface.”

Ty’s uncertain gaze hardened. He plucked the herb stick out of his mouth and threw it on the ground.

“I never did like him,” he said. “Now, get your asses in the launch tubes before the militia breaks down the doors.”

Michael put on his helmet and nodded at Layla as she climbed into her tube. She wore a vest stuffed with as much ammunition and supplies as she could carry.

Both divers looked as if they were preparing to go to war. If his hunch was right, they were going to need every bullet.

“Open up!” shouted a guard.

Michael pulled his blaster and pointed at Ty’s head as the guard looked through the windows into the launch bay.

Ty held up his hands. “Uh, Michael, what the hell are you doing?”

“Just play along,” Michael said. “If Jordan finds out you helped us, there’s no telling what he’ll do.”

Another guard slammed into the door.

“There’s a piece of paper in my pocket, with coordinates,” Michael said. “When we send our SOS, you have to make sure the ship is there.”

“But how? Captain Jordan has control over the ship.”

“Samson can override the navigation systems. I don’t have time to explain everything, but Jordan’s been lying to us all along. We have to stop him, but first I have to help the other divers. We’ll need them. Now, take the paper.”

Ty hesitated. “I’ve got your back, Commander,” he said at last. “Just like I had your father’s back, and X’s, and every other diver who goes out there.”

That was good enough for Michael. He wanted to pat Ty on the shoulder, but instead he kept the blaster leveled at his forehead while climbing inside his tube. He reached up with his other hand to pull the lid down. Layla’s tube shut with a loud click that was followed by a thud on the launch bay doors.

Glass shattered as one of the militia guards smashed the window with his rifle butt. He reached through, fumbling for the lock below.

Ty glanced over and continued punching in commands at the monitor that controlled Michael’s tube. The green launch button on the pedestal lit up.

“Screw the launch protocols,” Michael said. “You hit that button as soon as I give you the go-ahead.”

Ty nodded. “You go get our friends back.” He patted the top of the tube and ran over to Layla’s tube.

Michael looked at the glass floor. His entire body was warm with the prickle of adrenaline. There was no going back now. This was treason. Even if they made it back, he and Layla might be facing a long stint in the stockade.

The comm link from the speakers in his helmet clicked on. “Commander Everhart, this is Captain Jordan, do you copy?”

Michael ignored the transmission and opened a line to Layla instead. He kept his gun pointed at Ty as he prepared her tube for launch.

“Are you ready?”

“When you are, Tin.”

As soon as the countdown on his HUD flickered, Michael holstered his blaster. There was no turning back now.

“Fifteen seconds,” Ty said.

Michael snugged the rifle strap over his back and made sure his blaster was secure. Then he checked the pistol holstered on his boot. He buttoned the strap that had snapped open. A quick glance at his HUD revealed that all systems were online.

Two beacons blinked on his minimap, one for each of them. Seeing the lights made him realize this was the right thing to do. He was going down there with his person. Together. That’s how they did things.

“Handle your present with confidence,” Michael whispered. “Face your future without fear.” He had found that quote in a fortune cookie over a decade ago. Never had that it felt more significant than right now.

“Commander Everhart, I’m not going to tell you again,” Jordan said. “Stop this launch, or I will have you both thrown in the stockade without rations!”

There was only one thing left for Michael to say. He bumped his comm pad to open a private channel to Captain Jordan and yelled, “We dive so humanity survives!”

He felt the floor beneath his feet fall away.