Good thing he was the captain. Rules could be bent when you were at the top of the pecking order. But with that power also came a heavy burden. Years ago, when Captain Maria Ash handed him the reins, he had realized just how heavy it was. This morning, he had a hundred things on his mind. They had just lost an entire harvest of corn, and power curtailments continued to cause unrest. Even worse were the whispers of a new illness on the lower decks. At times, it was almost too much to bear. Every minute of every day, there was a crisis somewhere on the ship.
He put a hand to his forehead. Not even fully awake yet, and already he felt exhausted just thinking about his to-do list. Years of sleeping no more than three hours at a time had resulted in a chronic migraine. But that was what it took to keep this rusting hulk of metal and helium bladders together.
With a sigh, he put his feet on the cold floor and crossed the small room, which was furnished with everything a person needed: a bed, a desk, a sink, and a shit can cordoned off by a faded curtain.
Jordan picked up a mug from his desk and took a slug of the cold coffee within. Better than nothing, but it still tasted terrible.
The incoming transmission alert was still buzzing.
“Will you turn that damn thing off?” Katrina mumbled.
He downed the rest of his mug and tapped the monitor. The screen flickered on at his touch, and he killed the sound with a swipe of his finger. He keyed in his security code and scrolled through the most recent messages. The first was from Chief Engineer Samson—something about a gas bladder issue that had already been solved. The next was an update from medical—a new case of the mysterious illness, and yet another stillborn baby.
He skimmed Dr. Tim Free’s notes about a lower-decker admitted to the clinic, suffering from hallucinations, fever, and internal bleeding. It had to be from the radiation. That was also why they were losing so many babies. He had to get Samson to fix the damn leakage, but doing so meant another dive to the surface to collect parts.
Jordan cursed, reaching again for the mug before he remembered it was empty. Even the captain didn’t get unlimited rations, but perhaps one of the junior officers would be willing to sacrifice for the good of the ship.
“What is it?” Katrina said. She sat up and brushed aside a wisp of hair that had escaped her braid.
“Another stillborn,” he replied. “That makes two this month.”
Neither of them said a word for several moments. Jordan discreetly directed his gaze at her stomach. She was three months pregnant now, but they hadn’t told anyone. Soon, they wouldn’t be able to hide her condition—or their relationship. Some people already knew, and he would just have to deal with any repercussions when the time came.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “Everything will be fine, I promise. Go back to bed. You need your sleep.”
Katrina gave him a strained smile and laid her head back on the pillow. They both knew the odds of having a healthy baby were stacked against them. The last healthy child had been born six months ago. With the population of the Hive down to 443 people, it was vitally important that their baby be strong.
He read through the remaining messages. A fire in engineering, a fight in the trading post due to a price hike on tomatoes, and a dispute over rations, which led to a mini riot on the lower decks. Typical day on the Hive. The final message, however, made him pause. He read the subject line a second time.
Midnight.
Jordan glanced at Katrina to make sure she wasn’t watching. Her naked back rose and sank rhythmically. She was already asleep. He positioned his shoulders so she couldn’t see the computer if she woke up again. She was his executive officer, but there were things that even the XO mustn’t see.
“Midnight” was a top secret code for radio signals or transmissions picked up from the surface. Captain Ash had wasted a lot of time on them. She had believed there were survivors down there and that someday she would find a habitable place to put the ship down. Everything Jordan had seen proved otherwise. The only transmissions they picked up were decades, even centuries, old. Many of the bunkers below the blasted surface had generators and batteries that lasted far longer than the occupants, thus allowing messages to replay long after the last humans were dead.
The last time he had sent Hell Divers to follow up on a transmission, only one man returned. Still, part of his duty was to investigate any potential survivors, which meant listening to every radio transmission and signal they picked up, even if it was two hundred years old.
He put on his headset and hit the play button. A surge of static hissed in his ears; then a female voice.
“This is Governor Rhonda Meredith of the Hilltop Bastion, requesting support from anyone out there. The—”
Static.
“We are low on food and ammunition.”
Jordan raised an eyebrow at that.
“We can’t keep them back much longer. Please, please send support to the following coordinates…”
What were they fighting down there?
He cupped his hands over his headset. Flurries of static crackled across the line. The sound cut out. He clicked on the message again, but the signal was too weak. He would have to see whether Ensign Hunt could capture more of it. They had a deaclass="underline" any messages picked up by the satellites came straight to Jordan. In return, he provided Hunt’s young family with a few extra credits each month. The last thing Jordan wanted were rumors flying around the Hive about people down there—or about the monsters.
Jordan and Hunt weren’t the only ones who kept the ship’s secrets. The Hell Divers followed similar rules. Never speak about what you saw on the surface. Never give the population any more reason to worry.
But not even the Hell Divers knew what Jordan did.
He was pulling off the headset when he saw a second message marked “Midnight.” Two in one night? The odds of that were basically impossible. The last time they heard anything from the surface was months ago, and that transmission had proved to be over a century old. It was the same one that cost him three divers.
Jordan settled the headset back over his ears. He clicked play and leaned closer to the monitor. This time, the message came through clearly. It was one he had heard many times, and he sighed as he listened to it yet again.
“If anyone’s out there, this is Commander Xavier Rodriguez. I’m leaving Hades and heading east toward the coast.”
Attached to the message was a note from Ensign Hunt:
Sir, we have a potential problem. Someone has been poking around in the restricted archives, and they may have intercepted this message.
Jordan groaned inwardly. Only a few people on the ship were capable of hacking into the archives, and even fewer were stupid enough to try it. Whoever it was needed to be dealt with swiftly.
A hand on his shoulder made him flinch. He craned his neck to see Katrina standing behind him with her arms folded across her robe, revealing the tattoos of an angel and a raptor on her forearms.
Jordan quickly pulled off the headset and said, “What are you…?” Then he saw the militia soldier standing in the open hatch.
“Sorry to bother you at this hour, Captain.” The young man’s features were tense in the blue light of the computer monitor.
“Speak,” Jordan said.
“It’s a storm, sir. Came out of nowhere. Ensign Ryan says they need you on the bridge.”
“I’ll be right there.”