“That’s what I’m worried about, Michael. That you’ll be next. Trey didn’t get his second chance.”
The guilt Michael felt about Jamaica gnawed at him. “If I end up going, everything I do will be with you and Bray in mind.”
She clutched him tight. “You promise?”
He gently took her hand and put her palm over his chest.
“Maybe we should make this official,” he said.
“Official?”
He shrugged. “You know, like, get married.”
“Well, that’s romantic.”
“Sorry, but…”
“It’s fine,” she said. “I don’t love you because of your charm. You are the guy who took me on a ‘date’ to the weapons operation room or whatever it’s called, back when Discovery was Deliverance.”
He laughed. “Yeah, but that was fun, right?”
“It’s very possible Bray was conceived there.”
Michael leaned down in front of her stomach. “You hear that, little guy? You were conceived in the weapons operation center, which means you’re going to grow up to be a badass!”
Layla shook her head but had to laugh. She pulled Michael up straight, and he kissed her again.
“I’d better get to the library,” he said. “X is going over the Cazador maps.”
“Okay, I’ll just stay here and do…” Layla looked at the pile of unfolded clothing. “House stuff, I guess. Never thought I’d say that.”
“I’ll make it up to you when I get back tonight. How does dinner in the hall and then stargazing sound?”
Layla shrugged a shoulder and grinned. “Maybe you are a romantic after all,” she said.
“Don’t get your hopes up.”
Michael chuckled and left their small quarters and went to the great hall where the council chamber was located. The Cazadores had turned this fortress into an impressive place, but it lacked the technology the airships had.
Part of the reason, Michael suspected, was that they didn’t need to fix things with the same sense of urgency. Their lives didn’t depend on staying in the sky, and they had far more access to food sources here on the sea.
The bigger part, though, had to do with keeping this place a secret. So far, their lack of tech had kept them safe from the machines and everyone but his people.
Vaulted ceilings rose above Michael as he crossed the tile floor. A militia soldier and a Cazador soldier stood sentry beside the steel doors of the council chamber.
Michael walked down a passage lined with paintings of Cazador warriors. The men, and a few women, were dressed in armor and holding their weapons of choice.
General Santiago was there, gripping an axe with a blade the size of his head. Dozens of other generals, living and dead, seemed to watch the young commander’s progress, assessing his worthiness. But one section of wall was blank—the picture of el Pulpo, removed by the sky people.
Soon, there would be a picture of the man who killed him—assuming someone could get X to stand still long enough for a portrait. So far, he had been “too busy.”
Sconces with burning candles guided the way to the study. Michael passed several doors, one of them open to reveal an armory turned museum. Inside were glass cases full of swords, spears, bows, and old-world rifles that looked like antiques. On the walls hung suits of armor, helmets, and chain mail.
Around the next corner, he spotted the open doors to the study, or what his people called a library. The long room was far more than a library, though. Above the level furnished with hundreds of bookshelves was a meeting area with round wooden tables and several offices.
He had spent many hours in this place, going over records of the Cazadores’ travels, most of which had been limited to the Caribbean and the eastern coasts of the Americas. Only a few warriors had led expeditions across the Atlantic Ocean to West Africa or Europe. None had returned.
The library’s few patrons sat at tables, reading under lamps with orange shades. At the front desk sat Jason Matthis, the former librarian on the Hive, who had taken a beating from the militia during the dark days under the tyrant Leon Jordan.
The door shut behind Michael with a click, and Jason looked up with cloudy eyes.
“Who’s there?” he asked.
“Michael Everhart, sir.”
Jason rose from his seat and turned toward the voice. “So good to hear your voice, Commander. King Xavier is expecting you.”
“Thank you, Jason. It’s good to see you, too.” Michael walked down the rows of tables and stacks. The place had an academic vibe that didn’t really fit the Cazadores’ Spartan warrior culture, though the paintings on the walls helped bridge the gap—scenes of battles in the Sky Arena, on the open seas against mutant sharks and giant serpents, and on the mainland with Sirens and killer birds.
A voice called out from the balcony above. “Come on, kid,” X said. “I still haven’t gotten my daily swim in.”
Michael took the stairs two at a time up to the second level. X motioned him over to a large rectangular table draped with maps. Magnolia stood with her arms folded across her purple jacket.
Les was also here, in uniform. “Commander,” he said.
“Captain, how are you?”
“Worried,” Les replied.
X leaned with his palms on the table, looking down at the maps and then up at Michael. The concern in his gaze told Michael there was more to this meeting than simply discussing the SOS signal and the message, which he still hadn’t heard.
“We discovered something else after the council meeting,” Les said.
“This stays between us,” X said. “Got it? No one in this room says a word.”
Michael, Magnolia, and Les all nodded.
At a sudden movement under the table, Michael backed away. Miles stuck his head out to see what was going on.
“You, too, buddy,” X said. “Not even a growl.”
The dog whipped its tail and went back under the table.
X spread out a map. It showed eastern South America and a dead old-world city called Rio de Janeiro, where the signal originated.
Then he flattened a rolled-up square of paper on the table. It was a Cazador expedition log.
“What’s it say?” he asked.
“It’s a record,” X replied. “The Cazadores have been to this city before. Ten years ago.”
“And did they find anyone?”
“We don’t know.”
Michael scanned the log, realizing it was incomplete. “They never came back, did they?”
X shook his head. “Nope.”
“This message could be a trap from the defectors,” Les said. “The same one that got my son killed.”
The words stung Michael’s ears. He glanced at the captain, then looked away. Michael knew that Les blamed himself, but he also put some of the blame on Michael, who had led the mission on the ground.
“It could be a trap, yes,” said X. “But this time we know for a fact that there are survivors. We heard their voices before you got here.”
Les placed an electronic tablet on the table. “The original audio is in Portuguese, but Timothy has translated in his own voice.”
Michael stepped closer and bent down to listen as Les touched the screen.
“We have women and children. Please, if you’re out there, we need help. Our water system is failing, and our last crop yielded only half the normal rations. We are slowly starving, and if we can’t fix our water system, we will die.”
Les let it play twice before hitting the off button.
“This is what we’ve been waiting for,” Michael said. “Real survivors that need our help.”
“We also know that the Cazadores have encountered defectors before,” X said, “and if they never came back from this area, those machines could be why. It’s possible the machines are already there, and thanks to our signal, now they know the survivors’ location.”