X raised a hand to both men as he walked toward the crowd.
It was easy to tell who was who. The sky people wore hats and covered their sensitive pale skin that had never seen the sun until recently. The Cazadores, by contrast, wore little clothing over their bronzed flesh, save for the merchants, who dressed strangely in fancy trousers and vests over white shirts. On their heads, they wore round white cloth hats, of the sort worn by sailors in archives of the old-world US Navy, but with small silver fins affixed to the crown.
X was doing his best to assimilate the two societies, and events like today’s were perfect opportunities. The scars from the battle were deep, and reconciliation had been painful and slow. A lasting peace on the islands was going to take a lot of work. But according to his own people and most of the Cazadores, only one person could do it. And it meant X being king.
He cursed under his breath and strode over to the crowd with Sloan, Rhino, and Miles. Seeing the fresh mound in the graveyard caused him to slow. This one was different from the others. Though it had the same engraved wooden plaque, it was empty. Trey Mitchells was just ashes now.
X couldn’t imagine how painful the order had been, but Les had executed it, dropping the bomb that obliterated both his son’s remains and the machines that had killed him. That hard decision had proved he was the correct choice to replace Katrina DaVita as captain of the airship.
Les was in the crowd today, standing almost a full head taller than anyone around him. No wonder they called him “Giraffe.” Most of the people were busy watching the Hell Divers floating back up into the airship as their training for the afternoon ended, but Les saw X approaching.
“King Xavier is here,” he said in a commanding voice.
X shook his head as he walked. He would never get used to the ridiculous title. The crowd parted to let him through, treating him as if he were indeed the Immortal that Janga had promised them all in her prophecy. But he knew what he was: just a flawed man with a very high pain tolerance.
Familiar faces turned to watch him as he made his way toward the crew of Discovery. They waited in their white uniforms with the red embroidered Vanguard logo.
Absent was their AI, Timothy Pepper, piloting the ship for the Hell Divers so that its crew could be here for the ceremony.
Les gave a sharp salute, and X returned the old-world gesture. Lieutenant Ada Winslow, the new XO, also greeted him with a salute and a dimpled smile. Ensign Eevi Corey also raised her right hand sharply over her brow. The former militia investigator and Hell Diver was now an officer on Discovery while her husband, Alexander, remained a diver. Also present was Michael’s girlfriend, Layla Brower, now seven months pregnant. She stood with a hand on her swollen belly.
She smiled warmly at X, and he smiled back as he walked to a platform built onto the hull of the ancient airship that served as the oil rig’s roof. He gripped the warm metal rail in his calloused hands. Miles, sitting on his haunches, nudged up against him again.
John Wynn, the new militia sergeant, stepped over, holding a walkie-talkie to his ear. The former communications expert from the Hive was now Sloan’s right-hand man.
“Almost ready, sir,” Wynn said.
With his hand again on the pommel of his sword, X turned to face the crowd, taking a moment to scan the familiar and not-so-familiar faces for a moment.
“Today, we gather for a pivotal moment in our history,” he announced after a pause. “But first, I’d like to take a moment to remember all those we have lost over the past few months, many of whom are buried here.”
Les held his head up high, so far holding back the tears. His daughter, Phyl, and wife, Katherine, were at the front of the crowd, their pale faces looking up at X.
X waited a few more seconds in silent commemoration of those who had perished. His gaze flitted to Katrina’s grave. Now he too was holding back tears. He could feel them welling up, and he didn’t especially give a shit whether anyone saw. Shedding a tear for Katrina was the least he could do to honor her memory.
“Captain DaVita made the ultimate sacrifice so we could have a home here,” X said. He drew the sword and raised it skyward. “Today, we honor her and everyone else who gave their lives so that humanity could survive and thrive together, in the sun.”
Wynn put the walkie-talkie back into a pouch and nodded—they were ready to proceed with the next part of the ceremony.
X lowered the sword and looked to the west. Discovery, with its belly full of Hell Divers, began its descent through the clouds.
It wasn’t alone. To the south, another airship hovered below the clouds. The whir of turbofans carried in the still air. The hull seemed to pop out of the cloud cover.
Seeing the smooth beetle shape of the Hive brought with it a pang of nostalgia. X straightened his back, sticking out his chest with pride at the sight of the airship he had spent most of his life protecting.
At the helm was Chief Engineer Samson, who had also been doubling as captain for the past few months while they figured out what to do with the ancient airship.
X had finally made his decision a week ago. It was time to put her to rest.
The Hive was officially being decommissioned and would be put down on the oil rig that el Pulpo had planned to turn into a prison for the sky people. Over the airship’s curved top, a platform would be added for gardens and maybe even a tropical forest, like the one on the capitol rig.
Rodger Mintel had worked with Samson and the lead technician, Alfred, on the massive project that required multiple ships, cranes, and dozens of workers.
X nodded, and Rodger joined him on the platform.
“You sure this is going to work?” X murmured.
Rodger pushed his glasses up farther on his nose and grinned. “What are you going to do to me if it doesn’t?”
“I’ll tell Magnolia you soiled yourself on one of your dives,” X said.
Rodger laughed deep and hard. “Try harder. She already knows, and still seems to like me.”
“Okay, then I’ll make you fight in the Sky Arena again. But this time, you won’t be wearing any clothes.”
“Oh,” Rodger replied quietly, his smile vanishing. He looked out over the water. “This better work, then, and if it doesn’t, I blame Alfred.”
X clapped Rodger on the shoulder and turned back to watch the Hive descend slowly over the oil rig in the distance.
If all went according to plan, the inside quarters would be reclaimed by many of the sky people currently living in community housing on a rig guarded by militia soldiers. Soon, they would wake up every morning to a view that none of them would have dared dream of only a few months ago.
For 250 years, the airship had done her job, keeping the remnants of humanity alive above the storm clouds. Now she could finally rest in paradise.
But for X and many of the other survivors, there was no rest. They had to find a way to produce more food, strengthen the economy, keep the peace, and protect their borders. If that weren’t enough, X hoped someday to continue the missions to the wastes, to find human survivors still out there—people who had no idea the Vanguard Islands existed. People the Hell Divers would save and bring here as humanity slowly rebuilt.
The whir of the turbofans rose to a high whine as they eased the airship’s mass down onto its final resting place.
X glanced at Rodger.
“It’ll hold,” Rodger said without taking his eyes off the Hive.
Samson slowly lowered the belly over the top of the rig. Cranes swung over from the anchored ships to clamp on to the hull. Long steel arms filled the deck of one of the large ships. Eventually, they would support a platform that the cranes would place over the top of the airship.