Michael just shook his head. Weaver didn’t call him that, at least.
Within minutes, the launch bay was full of personnel. Hell Divers, militia soldiers, technicians, and engineers from Samson’s staff fanned out to perform their assigned tasks.
Another tremor rippled through the Hive. Outside the portholes, a skein of lightning filled the sky in front of the ship. Michael flinched as it licked the outer hull. The raucous crack rose over the screech of emergency sirens and reverberated in his ears for several seconds.
Forcing his gaze away, Michael punched his wrist minicomputer. Digital telemetry appeared in the upper right corner of his heads-up display. He opened a private channel with a bump of his chin on the comm pad and turned back to his locker.
“Double-check your gear,” he said over the channel. He followed his own orders and did a quick inventory of what he would need up there, going over all the potential issues in his mind. He stuffed the coils of wire into the cargo pocket on his leg, checked his parachute and booster a final time, and grabbed his duty belt.
By the time he was done, Magnolia had finished gearing up and Layla was rechecking her booster.
Ty dropped two bags of climbing gear in front of them. “Three hundred feet of eight-kilonewton-test rope. Should get you to the rudders.”
Michael bent down and grabbed a handful of carabiners from one of the bags.
“Make sure you attach those to the hangers on the side of the ship every fifteen feet, and run the rope through it,” Ty said. “That way, if anybody slips or gets hit, you won’t go far.”
“We know, Ty,” Magnolia said, and Michael could almost see her eyes roll behind her visor. Her armor plates clicked together as she fidgeted.
Normally, Michael would have felt those same predive jitters, which brought with them the messy and addictive combination of adrenaline and fear, but this wasn’t a dive through the clouds. Climbing onto the side of the ship during a storm was, in some ways, even more dangerous, since they would spend more time exposed to the storm and the threat of lightning strikes.
Get your shit together, Michael. Focus. You’re not a kid anymore.
He summoned his most commanding voice and shouted, “Let’s move it! We’re working on borrowed time here.”
With everyone in the launch bay watching, he clicked on his duty belt and led Magnolia and Layla to the ladder. Bumping his chin pad a second time, he opened a line to engineering.
“Raptor One to Samson, do you copy?”
He waited a second while Samson secured the line.
“Copy that, Michael. Where are you?”
“On my way topside. Any idea what the problem is yet?”
There was a frustrating pause.
They stopped at the bottom of the ladder, and Magnolia uncoiled the rope. She handed one end to Layla, who looped it through three steel clips attached to the bottom of her chest armor, just above her navel, and tied it in a figure eight.
Michael accepted the line when she was finished, and did the same thing. He didn’t like the idea of being tethered to someone as unpredictable as Magnolia, but orders were orders. Captain Jordan wanted her up there with them, so he must think she would be useful on the mission.
Samson’s voice came over the line as Michael secured the rope. He took the coil of slack and clipped it on his belt.
“We’ve troubleshot all three rudders from the back end,” Samson said. “It’s an electrical problem. You’ll need to replace the wire and connect the rudders to a different grid.”
Michael grimaced as he grabbed the first rung of the ladder. Rewiring the rudders was a lot more complicated than closing an open circuit. Ten years ago, he had patched a gas bladder from inside it while men with guns tried to lead a mutiny against Captain Ash. If he could do that, this should be easy.
He was no longer a little boy called Tin. He was the commander of Team Raptor, and he would fix the rudders no matter what it took.
“Roger that, Samson. We’re on it.” Michael swung up onto the ladder.
The ship trembled again as he climbed toward the narrow tunnel above. The slack came out of the rope connecting him to the other divers. With each step, he kept three points of contact on the worn metal rungs. If he lost his grip, he would bring Layla and Magnolia with him.
As soon as he reached the hatch, a transmission crackled from the comms. “Raptor One, Captain Jordan. I want Magnolia taking point once you’re topside.”
Michael held on to the rungs and glanced down at Layla and Magnolia. No way in hell was he going to let Magnolia take the lead. She would probably see something shiny on the other side of the ship and get all three of them killed when she chased after it.
“You’re breaking up, Captain,” Michael said. “I didn’t catch your last.” Switching off the frequency with a bump of his chin, he opened the hatch that led outside.
Magnolia was the fastest and most agile diver aboard, but walking on top of the ship while surrounded by the biggest storm she had seen in years was daunting all the same.
She had been so-o-o-o close to winning back the credits she lost to Weaver two weeks ago. Now she was up here, tied to a couple of lovesick kids.
Ahead, Michael battled the fierce winds. The glow from his weird red battery unit guided them across the top of the ship. They were right on the edge of the swirling mass, getting pounded by sheets of wind-driven rain.
Magnolia swore.
“You okay back there?” Michael asked.
“Fine,” she lied.
Fearless, fast, and freaky. She liked Rodger’s addition to Weaver’s description of her. She did appreciate a man who could make her laugh. Hell, maybe if she survived this, she would share a mug of shine with Rodger and show him the true meaning of “freaky.”
Nah. He’s got to earn that.
She continued across the ship, ordering her priorities: fix the rudders, win those credits back, then decide whether to give Rodger a chance.
Ahead, Michael clipped a carabiner through the hole in a steel hanger and clipped the rope through the biner, then waved the team forward.
“Stay on the center line!” he shouted over the comm channel.
Magnolia could hardly hear him above the shrieking wind. Violent gusts slammed into the three divers as they worked their way aft.
Thunder boomed in the distance, like explosives going off in the center of the storm. A black fortress of clouds stretched across the horizon, blocking out the sun. If she hadn’t seen it before, she might have wondered whether the sun wasn’t just an invention from fairy tales.
Magnolia lowered her helmet and moved along the spine of the ship. The aluminum beam that ran along the top of the Hive was two and a half feet wide. To either side of the beam, the hull sloped away. Her boots had lug soles, but the surface was slick from the rain. A wrong step could send her sliding over the edge.
“Raptor One, you have thirty-five minutes to get us back online,” Hunt said over the comms.
Rain pummeled Magnolia’s armor. She wiped her visor clean, blinked, and focused on their destination. She could hardly feel any sense of motion beneath her, but she knew that the turbofans were whirring away under the ship’s belly, helping keep them aloft. Jordan was backing away from the storm, but it was expanding, and without the rudders, he couldn’t turn around.
Magnolia tightened her grip on the rope. The wind pushed against her, but she pushed back, fighting her way astern one step at a time. A spider web of lightning streaked across the sky, illuminating the scene.
Once, a long time ago, she had read in a book that there were more stars in the sky than grains of sand on the faraway beaches of Earth. The idea had made her feel small and lonely. She felt that way again now.