Michael had hated coming to the lower decks when he was younger. Back then, he and Layla hadn’t understood why things were the way they were. They hadn’t understood why people had to live like this, and Michael hadn’t been able to grasp why a lower-decker such as Travis Eddie had resorted to brutal violence and attempted mutiny.
After the events on the farm a decade ago, Michael had forced himself to come down here with Layla a few times a week. Captain Ash had joined them on many occasions. It hadn’t taken much time with these people for Michael to understand their plight. Travis hadn’t been a bad man—just desperate for a better life. Michael didn’t respect his tactics, but now he respected his sacrifice. Instead of meting out punishments after the failed coup, Captain Ash had agreed to provide extra rations and better health care to Travis’ people. Things were still pretty bad, but they were better.
Today, Michael and Layla didn’t have time to stop and share rations or play games with the children. He hurried after her, through the maze of packed aisles and shanty quarters. A few voices called out after them, but they didn’t break stride until they entered the third communal living space. This was the worst area on the ship, the place where the undesirables lived. Some of these people had mutations from exposure to radiation, and some were petty criminals. Others were exiles from the upper decks or the other communal spaces. Scents of boiling cabbage and human feces drifted in the air.
Layla stopped at a stall with faded red curtains. The glow from a candle flickered in the gap.
“Hi,” said a voice.
Michael turned to see a little boy and girl across the aisle.
“Hey, Rex and Julie,” he said.
“Did you come to play with us?” Julie asked.
“Not today, but I will soon, I promise,” Michael replied.
Rex put his head on his sister’s shoulder and frowned, but he didn’t complain. These kids never complained, even though they had nothing. That was what had struck Michael the most when he started coming down here.
Across the narrow aisle, Layla knocked on the pole holding up the curtain rod. The red drapes parted, and a wizened face appeared, eyed their Hell Diver uniforms, and grumbled, “What do you want?”
“Hi, Janet,” Layla said.
“No one by that name here.” The old woman went to close the curtains, but Michael stepped up to Layla’s side and cleared his throat.
“Janga,” he said, “I’m Commander Michael Everhart. I was very close with Captain Maria Ash. I believe you served with her on the bridge?”
Janga gave him the once-over, then pulled the curtains shut.
“Hold on,” Layla said, pulling them back open. “We need to ask you some questions, and we don’t have much time.”
“Hell Divers and their questions,” Janga mumbled. She retreated into her tiny living space and sat on the edge of her bed.
“What do you mean by that?” Michael took a step into her quarters, which were furnished with bed, table, chair, and a shelf stocked with bottles full of herbs.
“What do I mean by what?” Janga said.
“Look, Janga,” Michael said, “we’re not here to bother you or harm you. But we need your help.”
He took another cautious step into her dwelling and held out the note from Captain Ash. Janga pushed her matted white locks back over her shoulders and leaned forward to read through cataract-clouded eyes.
“Captain Ash told me that if we ever received a legit transmission from the surface, we should look at page ninety-four of The New World Order.” He paused to see if that resonated with her, but she remained silent.
“You know that book,” Layla said, taking over. “You checked it out a few years back.”
“So what if I did?” Janga said. She picked at a loose thread on the hem of her colorful floral-print dress. “What does any of this matter? Go away, children. I’m tired.”
“It matters because someone checked it out a few weeks later under Captain Maria Ash’s name,” Michael said.
Janga shrugged. “I don’t see your point.”
“Captain Ash was dead by then.”
That caught Janga’s attention. She scrutinized him for a moment, then motioned him closer. She stood and peered right into his face, in the flickering glow of a single candle.
“You’re the kid Maria used to talk about,” Janga said after a moment. “I didn’t realize it, because you aren’t wearing that dumb little tin hat.”
“It wasn’t dumb,” Layla said. “It was sweet.”
Janga gestured for Michael to sit on the chair and patted the side of her bed for Layla.
“You’ll have to forgive me,” she said. “I don’t usually get visitors from the upper decks, and when I do, they don’t stay long. After all, it was the upper-deckers who exiled me here in the first place.”
“I’ve heard the story,” Michael said.
“Have you?” Janga said, giving him a crooked, mostly toothless smile. “Probably not the correct one.”
“What do you mean?” Layla asked, scooting closer.
“Maria and I were great friends for a very long time, but I broke her trust when I started searching the restricted archives for information about the war that destroyed the world. I discovered information about the surface and brought it to her attention, but she told me to keep it quiet. She said it would start a panic. We were supposed to keep certain things from the general population, for the greater good. But the truth was, I was already sharing facts that proved her dream of landing wasn’t possible in our lifetime.”
“What kind of facts?” Layla asked.
“Information that could have gotten me the noose. But like I said, Maria and I were friends. She exiled me down here instead of having me executed. And then she claimed everything I said was a lie, that I was crazy. It worked. The only people who believe me are the lower-deckers—them and one of your own.”
Michael and Layla looked at each other.
“Weaver?” Michael said.
Janga shrugged again.
“What kind of information?” Layla repeated.
“About what’s down there,” Janga said. “Evidence of what ITC did. They took my credentials away when they exiled me, but I’ve got a few other tricks up my sleeve.”
“So you didn’t believe in Captain Ash’s dream of finding a home on the surface?” Michael asked.
“I wanted to, kids, but I can honestly tell you that even Maria didn’t believe it by the time she died.”
“Why?” Michael said. “What did you find? Information about the bombs, or who started the war? The Sirens?” He started to reach out for her but stopped himself when she reared back.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I just want to understand.”
Janga relaxed and sighed. “So did I.”
“So I take it your prophecy didn’t come from mystical visions,” Layla said. “It’s based on whatever you discovered in the archives.”
Janga smirked. “You’re a smart girl.”
A whistling came from across the corridor. The noise caught the old woman’s attention, and her smile folded into a frown.
“No,” she whispered. “You have to leave before you’re seen here with me.”
The whistling got louder as others joined the din.
“What is that?” Michael asked.
Janga stood. “A warning. The militia is coming.”
Layla and Michael both stood. He peeked through the curtains. Little Rex and Julie were whistling now, too.
Down the passage, at the entrance of the room, a militia guard had his club out. This wasn’t some grunt, either. The muscular old man was Sergeant Jenkins, head of the militia.
Michael closed the drapes and said, “We’ll stay here and wait till he’s gone.”