Warriors

TWO

Magnolia heaved up on the cocking rope to load the crossbow. It had been years since she’d used one of the archaic weapons, but it was too risky to fire a gun or one of the advanced laser rifles inside the airship.

Hell, arrows were risky, too, but she didn’t want to hunt the Siren with her blades alone, even though she had on dives. Fortunately, unlike the Hive, Discovery had no helium bladders for an errant shot to puncture.

“Shit,” she said.

Michael helped her, using his robotic hand to pull the string back over the latch.

Magnolia secured her helmet but flipped up the face shield. Michael did the same but gave Magnolia a worried glance.

“There’s just one of them, Tin,” she said.

“I know, Mags, but you’ve seen what a single Siren can do, and it’s not just Hell Divers on board.”

His words trailed off, and he focused on his weapon.

Magnolia felt stupid. Of course Michael was scared, but not for himself. He was terrified of losing his family. She had only Rodger to worry about, and he was locked safely away in the medical ward with Arlo, Edgar, and a militia soldier to protect them.

Sofia had also joined the divers in the medical ward, and Magnolia was glad for that. The young woman was a mess after learning of Rhino’s death back at the Vanguard Islands. Magnolia didn’t want her out here tracking down a Siren in her current state.

“Timothy, you got a twenty on this thing?” Michael said over the comm channel.

“Last known location was in compartment fourteen, where it tripped a sensor twenty-one minutes and thirteen seconds ago.”

“So it could be anywhere now?” Magnolia said. “Don’t you have cameras you can access?”

“Yes,” Timothy replied, “but so far, the creature has not crossed into any areas where they are in use, and my scans aren’t detecting anything.”

The damn thing could be anywhere, and with so many passengers about the same size as the beast, infrared scans could give false negatives. Worse, the passengers were scattered among different shelters, the bridge, and the launch bay.

“Keep scanning, and make sure the shelters are sealed and protected,” Michael said. He wasn’t thrilled about it, but the two surviving Cazador soldiers from the mission had been dispatched to the bridge to guard Layla, Eevi, and the vital equipment while Timothy kept an eye on them.

Michael motioned for Magnolia to follow him into a well-lit passage. The emergency Klaxon blared all around her like a den of Sirens.

“Timothy, can’t you turn the damn sirens off?” she asked.

“If Captain Mitchells authorizes that, certainly,” Timothy replied.

“Do it,” said the captain’s voice on the open channel.

The shrill ringing died away as the two divers ran quietly down the passage.

“Mags, Michael, where are you?” Les asked.

“Just leaving the armory,” Michael said. “Heading toward an access hatch to compartment fourteen.”

“I already searched it. The beast isn’t there.”

“Shit,” Michael said.

“Exactly,” Les replied. “You two take the access hatch and search compartment ten, then eleven. I’ll work my way through thirteen and twelve. With luck, we can trap it.”

“Roger that, sir,” Michael said. “Good luck.”

“You too.”

Magnolia sprinted down the passage with Michael by her side. She was exhausted from the mission, but adrenaline fueled her, especially now that it had sunk in: there was a Siren on board.

But after what she had seen in Rio de Janeiro, she feared men more than monsters.

She ran faster, closing the distance between herself and Michael. He rounded the corner to an access hatch in the bulkhead. Unlatching the handle, he started inside, not giving her a chance to catch her breath.

“Going to have to use our helmet beams,” he said, flipping down his face shield. He bumped on the tactical light at the top of his helmet.

Michael went first, checking left and right with the beam. He nodded, and she followed him into a tunnel not much bigger than a crawl space.

There were few things she hated more than crawl spaces, unless it was a crawl space with monsters. And, damn it, why couldn’t she just get some rest?

“Timothy, bring up the schematics on our HUDs,” Michael said.

The red outline of an oval flickered into the translucent subscreen on her heads-up display. It was the first time she had ever seen what the guts of the ship looked like.

“You go left; I’ll go right,” Michael said. “We’ll meet at the hatch to compartment eleven. Timothy, mark that for us.”

A red dot came online, and she started moving down the left fork of the passage. The ceiling was just tall enough she could move at a crouch without bumping her helmet, and just wide enough that she could cradle the crossbow without scraping the bulkhead.

She checked her progress on her HUD. She seemed to be crawling along, barely moving.

The beam flitted across the metal bulkheads and overhead. It lit up a clump of something on the floor.

It didn’t take long for her to recognize it as feces, and not just any kind. The pink gunk was Siren shit. Shells from several large beetles protruded from the pile.

She was lucky she couldn’t smell anything while wearing her helmet.

Magnolia tried moving around it, but there was no way to do that without smearing it on her leg armor. She gagged as the pink slime streaked behind her.

“Gross, gross, gross,” she whispered.

Bumping on the comms, she reported the find to the other divers and militia soldiers.

“If it came that way, it could have made it to the lower compartments,” Les said. He cursed again over the line. “Everyone, head to compartment five. We’ll try and flank it.”

As Magnolia turned, her light captured something else in the passage. It was the bulkhead, or what remained of it.

Panels had been torn away, opening a jagged hole.

“Um,” she said. “Make that ‘um, shit.’ I think I know where it went.”

“Speak,” Michael said.

“It tore through the damn bulkhead in compartment ten,” she said. “Timothy, mark my location for the others.”

“Done,” replied the AI.

Magnolia moved on all fours to check the opening. Sharp edges of metal had been pulled back, and several wires stuck out.

“Yeah, this thing is definitely in the guts of the ship now,” she said.

Her heart skipped. Michael was right. This thing could do grave damage if it tore any critical wires.

“Can you get your light in there and see how bad the damage is?” Les asked.

“Can’t Timothy run a diagnostic?” she whispered. “I really don’t want to stick my head in there, Captain.”

“I’m not detecting any breaches in that compartment,” Timothy reported.

“Well, then your sensors are screwed up, because I’m looking right at one,” she replied.

“Timothy, is it possible this thing disabled your sensors?” Les asked. “Maybe that’s why you haven’t been able to pick it up on your scans.”

“Yes, but that would require an extremely cunning beast.”

“We’re talking about creatures that evolved to survive in the wastes,” Michael said. “It’s definitely possible.”

“Mags, check the opening,” Les said.

She scooted closer, training her crossbow on the doorway to hell. A few feet away now, she stopped to listen for any signs that the beast was still down there. All she heard was the hum of the nuclear-powered engines, and the gentle movement of air.

Holding in a breath, she sneaked a glance, angling her helmet downward.

The beam revealed debris-strewn compartments.

“I think we got a major problem,” she said. “A lot of wiring is shredded.”

A flash of pale skin writhed in the beam, and Magnolia jerked back, banging her helmet on a jagged piece of metal. The scrape prompted a screech below.

She scooted backward on her butt, keeping her crossbow on the ragged hole in her beam.

“Magnolia, do you copy?” Les said.

She didn’t reply, trying to keep her breath steady.

The screech echoed and faded away, but in its wake came another sound—a scratching that seemed to be getting louder.

Magnolia swallowed hard. She needed just one clean shot. If she got it, she would bury a bolt in this ugly bastard’s forehead.

The scratching stopped, but she could still hear something over the nuclear reactor and ventilation system.

She moved her finger to the side of the trigger.

Come on, you son of a bitch…

Black matte armor moved around the bend left of the torn bulkhead. She aimed the crossbow at head level for a Siren, then took her finger off the trigger. It was Michael.

He held up a hand to her, then moved to the bulkhead, took a look, and swore. He hurried over to her on his hands and feet.

“It’s gone,” he said. “We’ve got to hurry before it causes more damage.”

Magnolia turned around and started back the way they had come.

The comm link fired. “I think I know where it’s going,” Michael said.

“We’re listening,” Les replied.

“The nuclear reactor. That’s the biggest power source on the ship.”

“Damn, I bet you’re right,” Les said. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that earlier. Meet me in engineering.”

“Can you do a scan for life-forms in that compartment, Timothy?” Magnolia asked.

“One moment,” replied the AI.

Michael and Magnolia clambered back down the tunnel to the exit hatch. She got more Siren scat on her armor going back.

The speakers crackled in her helmet.

“I think we have another problem,” Timothy said. “The life scans in engineering are picking up two life-forms.”

“Do we have an engineer down there?” Les asked.

“No, sir,” replied the AI. “We don’t have anyone down there.”

The militia guards closed the shutters over the stained-glass windows in the council chambers, blocking the view of the sunny morning.

The wind rattled the metal as X eased himself onto the throne. He was starting to regret turning down the painkillers Dr. Huff had offered, but he couldn’t afford to dull his senses. Right now, the most important thing he could do was keep his wits.

Flouting the doctor’s orders could end up biting him on the ass, but it wasn’t the first time he had broken orders, and he needed to show his face and scotch any rumors about his health.

He also needed to set the record straight about the mission to Rio de Janeiro and about the ambush at the Purple Pearl—especially after Imulah’s report on the rumors spreading through the Cazador ranks. If the soldiers believed that his people had sunk Star Grazer, even Rhino’s sacrifice wouldn’t stop a war between the two societies. They had already gotten away with mass murder after Ada killed most of the Lion’s crew—something that Rhino and X had not seen eye to eye on.

Not having General Rhino made him feel vulnerable in a way he hadn’t in a long time. But he still had plenty of people here to protect him from enemies. Ton and Victor flanked the throne, both armed with spears and slung rifles. X looked at the former Cazador prisoners, but they kept their gaze forward, like statues.

So did Lieutenant Sloan, standing at the base of the stairs. She glanced over her shoulder to give X a frustrated glare. She didn’t seem to believe him when he said he had been sicker than this many times in the wastes.

He knew that Sloan and Dr. Huff were right. He should have stayed in bed to rest. The fever was rising, and the pain radiating from the inflamed wounds was hard to conceal. If the antibiotics didn’t kick in soon, he would be in trouble. He was doing everything in his power not to shake from the chills.

Miles let out a whine and curled up at his sandaled feet. The dog looked up as the double doors cracked open. In walked the last person X wanted to see. Colonel Carmela Moreto, cockatoo perched on her shoulder, strode into the chamber wearing ceremonial armor. Her black cape sported the octopus crest. Four Cazador soldiers followed her.

Next came Colonel Forge, also in ceremonial armor and black cape. His iron jaw was set, and his gleaming dark eyes roved the room, revealing no trace of emotion.

Samson and a group of sky people filed in after them. The chief engineer, his face red from coughing, sat at the table with Carmela. With several council members still en route aboard Discovery and with General Santiago dead, the council was down to just these two and X.

Wind rattled the shutters. X focused on his breathing and tried not to shiver. His body trembled from the bone-deep chills. It was too late to call off the meeting now.

More people entered the room. Most were militia soldiers and new Hell Divers, but the Cazadores were well represented with soldiers, Imulah and his scribes, and two accountants in suits.

Lena, Hector, Alberto, and Ted took the front row of seats, with the other new Hell Divers sitting behind them. They all stared at X, clearly disturbed by his condition.

X wondered whether Ted had his silver flask with him. A bit of shine could do him good right now. At the very least, it would warm his gut.

“Let’s go,” Sergeant Wynn called out. “Close the doors.”

He gestured for the two militia soldiers to close the doors as soon as the last civilians walked into the room—Cole Mintel and his wife, Bernie, accompanied Les’s wife, Katherine. They all looked anxious for news of their loved ones on the airship.

X put his hands on the armrests of the throne and pushed himself up, trembling again. Spots darted about in his vision from the exertion.

Sloan glanced over her shoulder again, her lazy eye on X. He managed to wink at her and walked over to the edge of the platform, trying not to stagger like a drunk. He was so unstable, he felt as if he had just polished off a bottle of shine and then fallen down the stairs.

“King Xavier,” Imulah said, joining X on the platform to translate the proceedings.

“Discovery is still flying home from the mission in Rio de Janeiro,” X said in a loud, clear voice. “Their arrival has been slightly delayed due to electrical storms, but they should be home by this evening, with the thirty-one survivors they rescued.”

The Hell Divers and sky people in the crowd applauded the news, even though it wasn’t exactly fresh. Rumors had already spread like windblown spores across the rigs.

X watched Carmela and Forge, wanting to assess their reactions if his vision would cooperate. It blurred for a moment, then cleared. Another chill washed through him, making him shake slightly.

Imulah finished translating the first few statements, but the Cazadores in the audience didn’t seem as thrilled as the sky people. Not that he blamed them. Only two soldiers were returning home from the mission.

X continued. “As many of you know, General Santiago, Lieutenant Alejo, and most of the Lion’s crew were killed on this mission, and Star Grazer was attacked and sunk by a pod of mutant whales.”

Imulah gestured with his hands as he translated.

Several grunts came from the Cazador soldiers in the audience, but Forge and Carmela looked on with stony expressions.

“That brings our fleet down to only a few vessels,” X continued. “And with the added loss of Colonel Vargas and General Rhino at the Purple Pearl, it severely diminishes the Black Order of the Octopus Lords.”

That didn’t seem to get much of a reaction, either, but what came next would. X turned his attention to Carmela and Forge, watching for the reaction.

“What we haven’t told you is exactly how the Cazadores and several of our people were killed,” X said. “Since I’m told there are those who doubt what happened out there, I’ll show you.”

While Imulah relayed his words, X nodded to Samson.

Samson turned on the projector, and footage from the airship’s drone, Cricket, played on the metal bulkhead. The robot had captured some of the battle with the skinwalkers.

The footage wasn’t great, but even with his limited vision, X could see the armored men covered in human skins. Horn and his demon warriors seemed to act like defectors, hunting humans and wearing bits of them as trophies.

A coincidence? He doubted it. More likely, Horn worshipped the machines.

X focused his good eye on the Cazador leadership while they watched.

Both Carmela and Forge had stood for a better view. They watched for several minutes before Forge turned to the platform and said something in Spanish to Imulah.

“What did he say?” X asked.

The scribe leaned over. “He said, ‘So it is true. The skinwalkers have returned.’ ”

“Indeed, it is, and what I want to make very clear is…” X blinked at the blurring scene before him. A wave of dizziness took him.

“What I want to make clear is…” he repeated.

“Sir,” Sloan said quietly.

X held up a hand to her and regained his composure. “Horn has no right to this throne,” he said, pointing behind him at the sacred chair. “If he comes here, he will die, and I’ll kill him myself.”

A chuckle sounded from the audience. X scanned the rows of seating but didn’t see who it was. When his good eye roved to the table, he saw why.

The laughter hadn’t come from the outer gallery, it had come from the head table, where Colonel Carmela Moreto stood with a smirk on her wrinkled face.

Anger flared in X’s chest. He walked down the stairs and out onto the floor, with Miles at heel. The cockatoo on Carmela’s armored shoulder squawked at the dog, and Miles growled back, putting the bird to flight.

The smirk evaporated.

“You find something funny?” X said.

Imulah translated.

She shrugged, then reached into the air for Kotchee to return.

“Then why are you smiling?” X said.

She stepped up to meet him, and they came together face to face. Her lips curled back, and she spoke rapidly while holding his gaze.

“Imulah,” X snapped when the scribe paused.

“Uh,” Imulah stuttered. “She says you don’t look as if you could put down Horn.”

“And what else? That’s not all she just said.”

Imulah unclasped his hands. He cleared his throat. “She also said that you are underestimating Horn, just as General Santiago did in the wastes, and that he will be the new king.”

“Did she, now,” X muttered.

It was obvious some of these people thought he looked weak, but that was precisely why he now stood in front of Colonel Moreto—to prove that his injuries and a fever weren’t enough to keep him from the important task of protecting the islands.

As long as he didn’t pass out, he would prove he could still lead.

“You just focus on the mission to the Iron Reef and protecting the fuel outpost,” X said. “Let me worry about the defense of these islands.”

Imulah relayed his words. Carmela narrowed her brows, clearly not happy about being sent off when she had her sights on a higher position in the Cazador military.

Rhino had been right about wanting to kill her after she invoked the Black Order at the Sky Arena, during his match against Warthog.

Maybe if X had listened, Rhino would still be alive. But killing Carmela now would just cause more problems. Sending her far away was still the best option.

X held steady, not taking his gaze off her.

“How are the repairs to Shadow and Renegade coming along?” he asked.

Carmela raised a graying eyebrow and replied through Imulah.

“She says they expect to be complete by tomorrow on Renegade, but Shadow is ready to go,” he said. “Colonel Forge has taken over that ship.”

“I want you and your dumb bird out of here as soon as it’s seaworthy,” X said to Carmela. “You got that?”

Imulah explained his orders. Even with a moment to think, X didn’t regret his tone or words. She needed to know who was in charge. He would not tolerate her open disrespect.

Her jaw clenched in anger, and her hand went to the hilt of her sword.

The Hell Divers all stood, even the Cazadores. Ted reached down to his holstered blaster, gripping the handle of the sawed-off triple-barreled weapon.

Footsteps clanked as Ton and Victor moved in to flank X.

X raised a battered finger. “No sea estúpida,” he said.

Her eyes burned with rage, but Colonel Forge clicked his tongue to draw her attention. He spoke rapidly, and she finally backed down.

“Lieutenant Sloan, please join us,” X said.

Already right behind him, Sloan stepped up by his side.

“I want you to work with Colonel Forge, making our defenses ready to destroy the skinwalkers if they decide to embark on a suicide mission. Colonel Forge will use Shadow to patrol our borders, while Moreto takes Renegade to Belize.”

Sloan didn’t seem to like the idea, but she didn’t protest, and when Imulah had finished relaying the orders, Forge nodded.

“Usted… have my sword, King Javier,” Forge said in broken English. Then he shut his mouth, concealing the sharpened teeth that, unlike a lot of the Cazadores, he rarely showed off.

“Gracias, Coronel,” X said. He eyed Carmela once more and then walked back to the platform. Miles trotted after him. Climbing the stairs brought on a second wave of dizziness, but X kept going up even as his vision blurred.

He misjudged the second step and tripped, banging his knee.

Ton and Victor rushed over with Wynn to help him back up.

“I’m fine,” X said, waving them back.

X paused a second to take a breath and then stood. Another wave of chills rattled his bones. Then he started to go numb, much as he had when dying of cancer in the wastes.

He staggered to the throne and plopped down, heart thumping, afraid to look out over the room. His fall had basically proved Carmela’s point. It didn’t matter how many Cazador warriors he had slain or how many monsters he had gutted. He was in no shape to fight Horn.

In the eyes of everyone in this chamber, X suddenly didn’t look like an immortal. He looked like a dying old man, and that made him a target for any Cazador warrior eager to take the crown.

Horn wasn’t the only one X had to worry about now.