This was definitely the upper decks.
Women wearing colorful dresses and jewelry attended to children playing with toy boats and seashells on the tile floors. In one room, a family ate dried fish at a wooden table. In another, a man in a gray jacket and matching pants sat at a table, tapping the keys on some old-world device with paper sticking out of it.
As she passed the living spaces, she noticed more men wearing the same gray suits and the same accessories, right down to the brown leather hats sporting a white feather. And they weren’t the only ones dressed well. The women wore patterned frocks, seashell necklaces, and gold bracelets. They looked up as she passed, some of them shying away from her gaze, others smiling with unsharpened teeth spared from decay.
The people here were like those on the Hive, with a wide range of skin tones. But unlike on the Hive, she could hear several different languages begin spoken.
Were the Cazadores more civilized than she thought?
Imulah turned down another passage. In a big, open room to their right, dozens of servants were setting up several long tables. Goblets, plates, silverware, and bowls were arranged neatly in preparation for a feast. The scene reminded her of the sumptuous meals on the Hive the night before a dive.
The scribe continued past the room and opened a hatch to a stairwell that wound upward several floors.
“Where are we going?” Magnolia finally asked.
The scribe gave her an up-and-down look and said, “To find you something suitable to wear for tonight’s festivities.”
THREE
X watched the boy set fresh clothing outside the bars of his cage. The kid, no older than eight, was cute, with big, innocent brown eyes. At first, he had reminded X of Tin as a boy—until the little monster tried to bite him.
This was not an upright, smart youngster like Tin. The kid appeared to be practically feral.
Clicking his tongue, the boy stepped away from the cage while fingering the shark’s tooth that hung from a thong around his skinny neck. He clicked his tongue again and pointed at the clothes.
“They want me to wear that? Hell no, kid.” The loincloth looked like a leather diaper. “I’m an old man, but I’m not that old.”
The two guards posted outside opened the hatch and walked into the passage, where they waved at the kid to scatter. He ran out of the brig, clicking his tongue.
“Little rat,” X muttered. He still didn’t know the boy’s name, only that he really didn’t seem to like X. No one did, for that matter, especially the guards.
The two men made way for two half-naked soldiers who entered the passage, drawing their swords from sheaths on their belts. They wore little more than a leather loincloth like the one the kid had left for X: just that, leather shorts, and simple crossing leather straps that held a shield of animal hide over the back.
Both had beards and shaved heads.
“Put them on,” one of them said in English. When X hesitated, he added, “You don’t want us to beat you before your first fight, do you, Immortal?”
Bending down, X grabbed the clothes and pulled them through the gap between bars. He pulled off his shirt and turned his back to the boy and guards while he changed.
“Damn! You got more scars than an old whale,” the soldier said.
X hardly noticed the scars on his body anymore. They were just a journal of sorts, a chronicle of fights, dives, and brushes with death. He had a feeling that by the end of the night, he would be adding another cut or two to the story.
But at least the recent wounds were healing. The bottle of gel Imulah had given him was high-quality medicine found in ITC facilities. He had discovered some on his trek across the surface years back, and it worked wonders.
All his cuts were already scabbed over, the bruises were fading, and he could breathe deeply now without his ribs aching. The only thing that still hurt was the gunshot wound along the outer edge of his foot, but even that was healing nicely.
Bending down, he applied the rest of the gel to the open wound. Then he pulled off his pants and tossed the filthy garments on the ground.
Naked, he picked up the leather loincloth and put it on, pulling the ends up through the waist thong in front and back. When it was secure, he put on his tattered boots and stepped up to the bars.
The two soldiers stood on both sides while the guards unlocked the gate. All four backed away as the door opened, allowing X to step out.
He raised his arms, stretching them and yawning.
All four men watched him closely, hands on their weapons.
“All right,” X said, “so who am I fighting?”
The soldier that spoke English looked to his compadres and translated. Laughter followed.
“Hammerhead,” the man replied after a good laugh. “And he’s undefeated.”
X chuckled and took a step forward, stopping just in front of the soldier’s face. “So am I, asshole.”
The USS Zion crested a forty-foot wave, giving Katrina a seemingly endless view of even larger waves, like dark dunes in a desert.
Katrina was really starting to hate the ocean. She grabbed the armrest and braced herself as the warship nosed down and rolled slightly to starboard.
A warning beeper echoed through the bridge, and several voices called out with reports. Lightning speared the horizon, lighting up the cloud cover. For a fleeting moment, she thought she saw a giant beetle shape in the afterglow. The optical illusion faded away with the blue visual residue.
She looked back to the monitor, realizing she couldn’t say with any accuracy where they were—only that they were holding a steady east-northeast bearing. Two hours into the storm now, and they were at the mercy of the beast.
The data on the screens was a scrambled mess.
“I’m not sure how much more of this we can take,” Eevi said.
Katrina had flown Deliverance and the Hive through several storms, each one threatening the future of humanity. But the sky was different from the ocean. Down here, you didn’t have just the lightning to worry about; you had to take the swells into account. Down here, you had no way to get above or below the storm, either; you had to plow right through it.
Another monster wave slammed the port bow. Katrina was going to be ill.
“If these readings are right, then the storm appears to be growing,” said Alexander, who was serving as meteorologist. “I’m also detecting an increase in lightning strikes, but… I don’t know if any of this data is correct.”
Katrina looked back down at her monitor. The fifty-mile front appeared to have enlarged around them, but she still didn’t know how long it would take to break through.
The waves had knocked them off the original course. It could easily take hours, even days, to find their way out, and they weren’t going to last forever out here.
She had considered turning back, but they were too far in for that to be an option now, especially since the instruments were screwed.
I have no idea where we are.
The realization chilled her. Had she doomed her team by bringing them out here?
All she could do was hope that the warship, built for rough duty, would make it through. But the ship was ancient and had seen no maintenance in over two and a half centuries.
A lightning strike licked the bow, showering the foredeck with sparks.
“Holy Siren shit!” Vish yelled out.
“Everyone, stay calm,” Katrina said, glancing over her shoulder.