X broke the spear shaft over his knee and raised the two short spears.
Hammerhead had finally managed to get a hand on Rodger and had him by the beard.
“Hey, Smiley!” X yelled. “Got something for you!”
The broad, ugly face turned just as X jammed a spear blade into Hammerhead’s gut and left it there. He howled in pain, letting go of Rodger, who kept doggedly pulling on the chain.
X plunged the second spear into Hammerhead’s chest, just above the heart. The shark tattoo quickly disappeared beneath a spreading patch of crimson. The giant dropped to his knees and then onto his back, pinning Rodger to the ground.
Panting, X staggered over.
The crowd suddenly went silent, and X glanced up to see el Pulpo raise his hands in the air, grab the railing, and drop to the sand. The stadium filled with the clicking of ten thousand teeth.
Dozens of warriors ducked under opening gates and swarmed the field to surround their king. X plucked the two spears out of Hammerhead’s limp body and turned to face the approaching warriors as they formed a cordon around him and the dead gladiator.
“X,” said a muffled voice. “Get this guy off me.”
Swords and spear tips bristled toward X, and one man drew a handgun. X hesitated and looked up at Magnolia. She nodded at him—confirmation that this wasn’t the time and place to make their stand. After another moment’s pause, he dropped the shafts. Then he bent down and pushed the gigantic corpse off Rodger.
“You okay?” he asked as Rodger tried to slither free.
The crowd went back to screaming, and a chant started to ring out. X ignored the din around him and reached down to help his friend. Rodger, flushed but apparently uninjured, sucked in a long breath and grabbed his outstretched hand.
The chants intensified, and X finally realized what these people were yelling.
“¡Inmortal! ¡Inmortal! ¡Inmortal!”
“Commander Everhart, I don’t have you on the schedule for access,” said Monk. The militia sentry stood with another guard, O’Toole, in front of the hatch to Deliverance’s launch bay and weapons lockers.
“I have my key card,” Michael said, fishing it out of his pocket.
“Sorry, sir, but protocol has changed,” said O’Toole. The fit, likable militia soldier had grown a beard since Michael saw him last.
“I’m not here for weapons,” Michael said. “I just need access to the restricted archives again.”
After clearing his throat, Monk said, “I’m sorry, sir, but you will need clearance from Sergeant Sloan or Lieutenant Mitchells. Our orders are to keep this area secure unless someone has specified clearance.”
The two guards took their job of protecting the nuclear arsenal and weapons locker seriously, and while Michael respected that, he was losing his patience, especially when Monk glanced at his arm stump. He was really getting sick of all the staring.
“Go ahead and radio Lieutenant Mitchells,” Michael said. “I just talked to him—didn’t realize I would need clearance to get to the archives.”
“Give us a minute, sir,” O’Toole said.
Monk pulled out his walkie-talkie and put the order in, and after several minutes of pacing, they finally got a response from Ensign Ada Winslow that Les was now meeting with Sergeant Sloan.
Michael shook his head, frustrated. A phantom pain had set in, and he considered heading back to the medical ward for some pharmaceutical relief.
You can handle this, remember, Michael?
He gritted his teeth. Counting helped him focus on something other than the agonizing pain, but it also reminded him that time was going by.
Since he could remember, there had always been a clock in his subconscious, ticking ever closer to doomsday. Right now, that clock was ticking for X, Mags, and Miles, and there was only one thing he could do for them right now.
“Let’s just let him through,” O’Toole said.
“What? We have specific orders,” Monk replied quietly, turning his back to Michael.
“He’s a Hell Diver.”
The hatch clicked, and both men stepped away. A white glow emanated from the other side, coalescing into a human shape. The dark-skinned figure, dressed in creaseless pants and a suit jacket, stood inside the launch bay. He had a neat beard and short-cropped hair. The man—or hologram, to be precise—made Michael smile.
“What the hell!” Monk said. “I thought you were—”
“The captain ordered his reactivation,” Michael said. “Good to have you back, Timothy.”
“Thank you, Commander. It’s good to see you. Samson said that you wanted to see me.”
“Yes. Follow me.” Now that the hatch had opened, Michael didn’t wait for permission. He simply nodded at O’Toole and Monk, who stepped aside to let him into the launch bay. The hatch closed behind them, sealing with a loud click that echoed throughout the vaulted space.
“I’m only fifty-nine percent operational,” Timothy said, “but I should be one hundred percent within the hour and will have accessed the thousands of new files on the mainframe.”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. What’s the last communication you had with your counterpart on the Sea Wolf?”
“One moment while I scan for the transmissions.”
Michael led them toward the Combat Information Center belowdecks, taking the staircase down to where he and Layla had their “date” a week ago. The click of his boots on the rungs reminded him of the final message from X.
By the time you hear this, we will likely be dead. But when you do come, prepare to face a brutal enemy—worse than the Sirens. Avenge Miles. Avenge Magnolia, and promise me that when you make this humanity’s future, you won’t resort to barbarism like the Cazadores. I dived so humanity would survive. I dived for this place. I love you, Tin. Be good, fight hard, and remember what you told me: Accept your past without regrets. Handle your present with confidence. Face your future without fear. I’ll always be here for you in spirit, kid.
The message sent a chill of pride and dread through Michael. By the time they got down to the dashboard of computer equipment, Timothy had finished his scan.
“The last transmission we received from my counterpart was from three days ago,” he said. “Shall I play it for you?”
Michael nodded.
“This is Timothy Pepper of the Sea Wolf. I’m running on backup power and will be going idle soon. My vessel has been captured by the Cazadores and is being taken to a tower that appears to be the capitol of the Metal Islands. I have not heard from X or Magnolia for thirty-six hours now and suspect they are either captured or dead…”
Michael sat down and slumped in the chair.
“I’ve listened to the Cazadores on board for any information on their fate, but so far they have spoken only of a warrior who will not die. I’ve tried tapping into the radio transmissions, but there are very few. These people seem to communicate purely by word of mouth.”
There was a pause. Then, “The mechanics working on the ship continue to speak of a man from the sky—the same man that they say cannot die.”
“X!” Michael said. “It’s got to be X.”
The hologram of Timothy Pepper on Deliverance scratched his beard. “That would be a logical assumption, Commander.”
“Is that the last transmission?” Michael asked.
A nod from Timothy.
“Damn.” Michael had hoped Timothy might be able to access something that Les and the other officers on the bridge couldn’t.
He pulled out his key card and swiped it across the monitor, bringing the computer online.