“I need you to do some research for me,” Michael said. “I need you to dig up every file you can find on the AI defectors and Red Sphere.”
“One moment, sir.” Timothy’s hologram flickered in and out as he worked, and Michael used the opportunity to open the hatches covering the portholes. Storm clouds churned outside Deliverance—the same dispiriting sight he was used to seeing. But it was the view of the Hive that gave him the chills.
Or perhaps that was from the pain firing up his shoulder and neck and into his temple. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
When he opened his eyes again, he saw hundreds of porthole windows covered by salvaged hatches on the side of the Hive. People had already painted most of them with fluffy clouds and blue skies. But a few hadn’t been replaced.
Several portholes glowed from interior lamps and lights, providing a view inside the quarters where families dwelled on the upper decks. He was too far away to recognize any of them, but something about seeing the people inside their homes made him feel at home. He had been fighting to save this place his entire adult life.
Now he had a chance to create a new home—a home where the sun shone. Part of him still didn’t believe it, but the Metal Islands were real, and Michael knew that they couldn’t take the paradise from the Cazadores with the airships, a naval warship, the Hell Divers, and the militia soldiers. They needed something else, something that would involve a major risk. But if he could pull this off, it had the potential to change everything.
“I’ve finished my scan and have recovered one hundred two files received from the Sea Wolf about Red Sphere and the defectors, otherwise known as model DEF-Nine,” Timothy said. “What would you like to know?”
“I want to see their internal makeup and their programming.”
“Let me pull those up. But, Commander, if I may, why are you asking this?”
Michael paused, recalling a memory of playing with a vacuum robot in his old quarters when X had come home with a bag of noodles, not long after his father perished on a dive.
“When I was a kid, while the other kids were playing with games, I played with robots,” Michael said. “Building them, taking them apart.”
“With all due respect, Commander, DEF-Nine units, or what you call defectors, aren’t cleaning machines. They are killing machines.”
“And like anything designed by humans, they will have a weakness or a glitch. Even you have them, Timothy.”
“Touché, sir.”
Michael twisted around in his seat and said, “I just have to find it, and if I’m right, then maybe, just maybe, I can find a way to control them.”
SIX
“All hands report to the trading post in one hour,” said the soothing voice of Ensign Ada Winslow over the comm system. “Lieutenant Les Mitchells will be making an announcement about the future of the airships.”
Les stood in front of the hatch to his quarters and gave his wife a kiss on the cheek. His daughter, Phyl, held a doll in her hands, listening to the repeating transmission with her head tilted as if she didn’t understand what the ensign was saying.
“Fu-ture?” she said slowly.
“The new home you keep hearing about,” Les said.
“You haven’t told us everything, have you?” Katherine asked. There was anger in her voice—something he hadn’t heard in a while. “You haven’t told us what happened to X or the others.”
“No, I haven’t,” he said. “I’m sorry, but I have… I had strict orders.”
Katherine narrowed her gaze. “You promised you wouldn’t leave Trey. You promised you would stay with him.”
She pulled away from his grip, giving him a moment to consider his words. When he was a young boy, his father had taught him never to make a promise he couldn’t keep, and this one Les wasn’t sure about.
Trey felt so far away…
He is far away.
They were practically a world apart, separated by a sea of electrical storms.
“Papa, I miss Trey,” Phyl said. “Commander Everhart said he’s on a mission and isn’t sure when he’ll be back.”
Les looked from his wife to his daughter, wishing he could take their pain away, but he was frightened his words would only add more emotional agony.
His father had also told him never to lie, especially to two of the three people he loved unconditionally.
“When I dived last week with Trey, we found another ship at Red Sphere,” Les said. “Not an airship. It’s an old naval warship from the United States of America. Captain DaVita is sailing it to the Metal Islands, to help save X, Mags, and Miles from the Cazadores, and to…”
Les stopped as Phyl tilted her head. Maybe she wasn’t old enough to hear the rest. It might just frighten her and make her worry about Trey.
But she deserved to know where her brother was going, and kids on the airship were resilient. They had been through more than any kid should.
“I’ve been tasked with putting together a fighting force to help Captain DaVita take the Metal Islands from the barbarians that live there. Trey is sailing to help on that mission.”
Katherine put a hand over her mouth and arched her brows. “You sent our son to war?”
He hated how it sounded, but the hard reality was that humanity had been at war for the past 260 years.
A war for survival.
“Yes,” Les said. “And if it comes down to it, I’ll be joining him in the fight.”
Katherine pulled Phyl close. “I… I don’t believe this! I don’t even know who you are right now!”
The stinging words took Les slightly by surprise. He wasn’t used to balancing orders with what he told his family, but by not telling Katherine from the beginning, he had now lost her trust.
He suddenly missed his days as a simple electrician, when all he had to worry about were hot tunnels and live wires.
“I’m sorry, Katherine, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I—”
She pulled back when he reached out for her. “I don’t care what you meant to do. You sent our son to war, Les.”
White noise crackled from the comm system, and the announcement from Ensign Winslow played again. Time was up, and he couldn’t dawdle any longer.
“I have to go,” he said. “I’m sorry. Please come to the trading post and listen to what I have to say.”
Katherine didn’t reply, and Les turned away so they wouldn’t see the tears welling in his eyes. Opening the hatch, he left without looking at his wife or daughter again.
The passages were filled with people leaving their quarters and jobs to head to the trading post. Everyone wanted to hear what he was about to tell them, except for Katherine.
He jostled through the crowds, hurrying to the one stop he had to make before the announcement. Sergeant Sloan was standing outside the militia headquarters on the Hive, her back to the bulkhead, arms folded across her black armor.
“’Bout time, LT,” she said.
“Sorry.”
Sloan led him through a hatch into the militia HQ, which consisted of several offices, a locker room, a small armory, and a conference room, all empty.
They continued through a hatch that connected to the launch bay on the Hive. Inside the room stood thirty-odd militia soldiers in black fatigues. Some of them still had on body armor and helmets from their patrols. Batons hung from their duty belts.
Les ran a hand through his frizz of red hair. Most of these guys were retired from other jobs and now worked on guarding restricted facilities. They weren’t seasoned warriors—hardly any of those were left. And there was no time to train people.