The crackle of radio static snapped her out of her reverie.
Ada moved over to the comm station.
“Lieutenant Winslow, it’s Captain Mitchells,” said Les. “What’s your location? Over.”
“About twenty minutes southwest of the capitol tower, Captain.”
“The storm’s getting worse, and I’ve got new orders from King Xavier,” Les said. “Meet me back at the capitol tower. We’ve been ordered to take Discovery beyond the barrier, to check on the Cazador ships patrolling the frontier.”
She paused, holding the receiver up to her lips.
“Lieutenant,” Les said.
“Copy that,” she said. “We’ll be there.”
Ada put the receiver down and shook her head. She muttered under her breath, but Magnolia heard every word.
“Waste of fuel checking on those dumb ships,” Ada said. “Makes me wonder whose side X is really on.”
SIX
The wail of an air-raid siren rose over the howling wind and the rain pounding the docks.
Michael hated that sound as much as any other sky person. In the air, it awoke the visceral fear of crashing to the surface, but on the oil rigs, it meant war or a hurricane. Luckily, today it meant the latter—if a hurricane qualified as lucky.
“How did we not see this coming?” Rodger yelled over the howling wind.
“The sensors outside the barrier didn’t pick it up until too late,” Michael yelled back.
They stood with Cricket inside the protected boat harbor, watching the rain pound the rising waves. A small flock of gulls and terns had taken refuge under the overhang. Birds knew better than to fly in the violent wind, but it hadn’t stopped X from sending Discovery to check on the warships.
And now, thanks to a busted satellite, they had lost contact with the airship. Michael was part of the team preparing to get it back online.
He took off his goggles and pulled his wet hair into a ponytail, wishing he had stayed in his Hell Diver armor and helmet. At least he had Cricket and his wrist computer. Bringing it up to his mouth, he called X.
“I’m inside.”
“On my way,” X replied.
Cricket chirped as it hovered behind them. Michael checked the robot while they waited. He had replaced the electrical system fried by the EMP grenade at the prison in Jamaica, but he still needed to find two new limbs.
The machine used one of its two remaining arms to hit the port’s door lever, sealing them inside. With the sirens and howling wind suddenly muted, the clatter and hum of machinery filled the enclosed space.
“Come on,” Michael said.
Rodger and Cricket followed him inside the port. Graffiti and mural art—images of fish, birds, and monsters—covered the massive concrete pillars that held up the overhead and the levels above. The Cazadores had decorated every part of their home, just as his people had decorated their home in the sky.
Around the next pillar, several Cazador mechanics worked on a long cigar-shaped speedboat that had once belonged to el Pulpo. Samson barked orders at two of his engineers wearing the traditional light-blue coveralls.
“Ah, Commander Everhart,” Samson said. “About time you showed up.”
“Sorry,” Michael said. “I was helping secure the tarps over the gardens, but I brought Cricket along just in case we need it.”
Samson turned his attention to Rodger. “And what’s your excuse? Been playing grab-ass with Magnolia again?”
“I wish,” Rodger said.
The two engineers laughed, but Samson was a tougher audience. “I need all trained hands on this boat. X wants it ready as soon as possible.”
Rodger jumped into the cigar boat and ducked down to remove an electrical panel. Now that the Hive had been secured to the oil rig, he was back to getting damaged boats up and running again.
All the smaller vessels were stored here, but the container ships and warships were anchored by an oil rig retrofitted as a massive warehouse. The rig was completely controlled by Cazador workers, with a catch—the militia had an outpost there that allowed Lieutenant Sloan and Sergeant Wynn to keep a close eye on the repairs.
It was part of their plan to monitor the Cazadores on all the rigs.
Two militia guards were present today, each armed with an assault rifle, watching the Cazador mechanics.
“No!” shouted one of the men. He waved at Rodger, who held a panel in his hand on the boat.
“What?” Rodger asked. “What’d I do now?”
The Cazador spoke in Spanish while Rodger pushed his glasses farther up on his nose.
“I think he’s saying the electrical panel needs to be replaced,” Samson said. He looked at the Cazador mechanic. “Well, why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
The hatch to the harbor inside the rig opened, and the Cazador guard standing with the militia soldiers pounded his chest when he saw that it was King Xavier.
“We ready to go?” X asked, striding out onto the pier with a blood-soaked bandage on his head.
“Sir, we have a problem with the boat you requested,” Samson said.
“So find me a new one,” X said. “I need to get that satellite back up and running pronto, Samson. It’s the only way to contact Discovery.”
“We have others, but do you really want to take them out in this weather?”
“I don’t care what we take,” X said. “Just give me something that runs.”
Samson looked to the Cazador engineers and tried to speak in Spanish to them. He had already picked up the basics and was doing better than Michael in this new and necessary language.
One of the men pointed at the back of the boathouse. X peered into the shadows and then smiled, and Michael saw why.
The man was pointing at the Sea Wolf.
“That thing?” Samson said. “I’m not taking it out in this.”
“Relax, I’ll take the helm,” X replied.
“Oh, that makes me feel so much better.” Samson pointed to his bag of tools, and Rodger picked them up. Then he and Michael followed the chief engineer and X down the platform, toward the boat.
“She didn’t sink on our journey here,” X said. “And I pushed her through storms just as bad as this one, so don’t get your oversized undies in a bunch.”
Samson patted his gut. “I take exception to that after all the weight I’ve lost.”
“Just messing with you,” X said, clapping him on the shoulder.
Michael took the access ladder down to the deck and went through a hatch to the bottom level. Cricket followed them into a brand-new command center with a new windshield and dashboard.
X sat in the captain’s chair and fired up the engines.
“All right, old friend, let’s see if you still got it,” he said.
He steered the boat through the choppy water and around the neat rank of moored boats in the protected port. When they reached the big exit door, one of Samson’s engineers pulled the lever.
The metal hatch opened slowly into a violent storm.
Sheets of rain pounded the windshield.
“You all know I can’t swim, right?” Samson said.
X clenched his jaw, all business now that they’d left the safety of the port. Swells lifted and lowered the boat as they moved out into the open water, leaving the capitol tower behind them.
“Have a seat,” X said to Samson. “You’re making me nervous.”
The chief engineer slumped down in one of the padded leather passenger chairs. Michael felt like doing the same thing. After the morning’s training mission, he was running on fumes. All he wanted to do was get into bed with Layla and sleep for a day, but duty called.