The oil rigs rose in the distance, and several large boats cut white wakes through the water—fishing trawlers bringing home the catch.
“Timothy, open a line to Command,” Les ordered.
“One moment, sir.”
A buzzing sounded, followed by static.
“Vanguard One, this is Captain Mitchells of Discovery, do you copy?”
“Copy, Captain, this is Sergeant Wynn,” came the reply. “It’s damn good to hear your voice. Welcome home.”
“Thank you, Sergeant,” Les replied.
“The landing zone on the capitol tower is prepped and ready, sir.”
“Copy that. Prepare for our arrival.”
Les moved over to the controls and had Timothy take them off autopilot. He switched off the bank of thrusters and switched all auxiliary power to the remaining turbofans.
“Look at that,” Michael said. “Is that Renegade?”
“Looks like it,” Magnolia said.
“So they finally got it back up and running, then.”
“Kind of,” Magnolia said.
Les watched the warship sailing away from one of the rigs. A plume of smoke rose into the blue sky. The airship swung away toward the capitol tower.
Another warship was down there, larger than the first. This one didn’t appear to be moving.
“That’s Elysium,” Michael said.
Hundreds of warriors stood on the deck, holding weapons. They all turned to watch the airship sail overhead.
“That’ll show ’em,” Les said.
Michael arched a brow. “You planned to fly over?”
“To show the Cazadores we’re back,” Les said.
“Sounds like something Magnolia would do,” Timothy said.
Les hadn’t seen the third Cazador warship, Shadow, during the flyover. Perhaps they had deployed it already to watch for defectors and Horn’s skinwalkers.
The hull groaned, and the deck shivered as Les turned Discovery sharply.
“There she is,” Magnolia said.
Seeing the metal fortress in the sunshine brought a smile to the faces of everyone on the bridge except Eevi. For her, this wasn’t a happy homecoming.
Les knew something of the pain she felt. He had left his son in the wastes, his body destroyed like Alexander’s. He wanted to say something comforting to Eevi but didn’t want to sound like all the people who had tried to offer him condolences and support.
The only thing that would make him feel better was destroying the defectors and eliminating the threats to the Vanguard Islands. As soon as Discovery set down, Les was going to see his family. Then he would start planning to do just that.
SEVEN
Ada moved through the collapsed passageway in a crouch, ducking the overhangs and rusted metal reaching out like broken skeletal fingers. The beam from her helmet light cut through the inky black, pushing away shadows that seemed to retreat from it in fear.
Hours ago, she had hidden herself from whatever creature lurked in the black abyss. It had taken a lot of second-guessing before she finally emerged from the quarters to return to her boat.
On the way back to the deck, the screeching had come again. It sounded as though the beast had moved to the weather deck.
She had been forced to return to the passages and take refuge in a berthing area, hiding beneath a crooked bunk with a tarp over her.
After leaving the hiding spot, she was working her way through a tangled mess of pipes and fallen overheads.
Rifle in hand, she was prepared to kill whatever was out there, before it killed her.
Ropes of vines blocked her way around the next bulkhead. Slinging her rifle and unsheathing her machete, she stopped to listen for anything other than the dripping of water.
When she got back to her boat, she would sharpen the blade with a file. It was already getting dull from all the hacking, sticking several times in the meaty vegetation. Now she could see that it wasn’t just the dulling blade causing her issues.
This flora was still alive. Purple sap wept out of the severed stems on the deck.
She retreated a few steps and bent down to examine the first mutant life she ever encountered in the wastes. Although the outer skin of the vines was a dead-looking dull brown, the inside was ripe purple and very much alive.
Ada stood and carefully maneuvered around the dying stems. She stepped over one that wriggled like a giant earthworm.
The movement made her jump, and she backed away, not daring to take her eye off the limbs lest they shoot out to grab her in revenge.
But her fear resulted in a costly mistake. Backing up, she bumped into a bulkhead. Her pounding heart thumped faster at the sound of tearing fabric.
Terrified of what she might see, Ada looked down. A broken pipe protruded from the bulkhead to her left. Its jagged end had snagged her pant leg.
Ada acted fast, placing her rifle against the bulkhead and sheathing the machete. Shucking off her backpack, she fished inside for tape to seal off the tear.
She took a close look now, and her sigh of relief fogged the inside of her visor. The metal hadn’t cut her leg, so she needn’t worry about infection.
After sealing off the tear, she slowed her breath and heart rate. The accident had taught her something important: always watch where you’re going.
Noted.
She pushed onward, down a passage of more open hatches, to a space set with industrial metal tables—the sailors’ mess hall.
Several plates and cups littered the deck, but she wasn’t interested in those. Something in the kitchen might be useful, though.
She set off across the room, careful not to make any noise. The beam raked back and forth, capturing a bulkhead covered in vines that had grown down through the overhead.
The kitchen door was gone, and rusted pans and utensils were scattered over the counters and deck.
She wasn’t expecting to find any food, but she did find a knife on one of the counters. Picking it up, she saw that the blade was mostly rust.
Ada left through the back hatch, which opened to a passageway. A supply closet, long since raided, didn’t look promising. There wasn’t much she could do with a broom, but the three nested plastic buckets could be useful.
The problem would be carrying them back to her boat without banging anything. Something was still out there, and if she couldn’t avoid it, she wouldn’t mind having a cleaver or butcher knife. For now, the machete and rifle were all she had.
She set back out into the passage, searching several quarters. In one, she halted in the open hatch.
The space was furnished with two desks covered in decayed books and folders. Only one book remained on a shelf. She bent to pick it up when she saw something on the floor.
Ada reeled back. The skeletal remains were tucked under the desk, head down, legs pulled up to the rib cage.
Her beam captured a pair of eyeglasses and the remains of a torn jacket and pants still covering the bones.
A plastic name tag hung loosely from the frayed jacket. Dr. James…
She couldn’t read the rest, but from what she could tell, this man had been some sort of scientist. Perhaps one of the people who had used the telescope above decks.
Ada stood and checked the book on the shelf. The cover was worn, but she could make out the first word. Biomedical.
She flipped it open, and decayed pages sloughed away in pieces. This ship had been used for more than looking at the stars.
She felt the tingle of fascination and mystery, but she had to find a way back to her boat.
She went back out to the passage. Another ladder led to a lower deck—from what she could tell, the lowest on the ship. No vegetation blocked the way.