Pinpricks glowed across the surface like a halo of burning stars. From the airship’s lower compartment, one might have confused the ocean below with a constellation in the night sky. But Magnolia knew better. The lights were torches burning on the decks of Cazador vessels that had surrounded the Hive and the capitol tower below.
She crouched near an open hatch in the deck of compartment two on Discovery, where the hoist cables remained coiled like massive snakes. Michael stood nearby, checking his gear one last time.
The other divers were all here, trying to get a good look.
“I should be coming,” Rodger said.
Magnolia leveled her helmet at him. “Rodge, I’m going to say this once more. You. Stay. Here. Got it?”
“If you get into trouble, then—”
“Rodge, you break a direct order, and we’re going to have major problems,” Michael said.
Magnolia stood and tapped her wrist monitor to check her systems. They had rushed to get into their gear and grab their weapons. Everything had been relocated because the new passengers were still quarantined in the launch bay.
She latched the leather pad over her battery unit to mask the glow. No need to give anyone an easy target.
“Good to go,” she said.
Michael pulled a fresh magazine from his tactical vest and slapped it into his rifle.
“Captain, this is Raptor One,” he said. “Ready to dive.”
“Raptor Two, online and ready,” Magnolia confirmed.
“Be careful,” Les said.
Michael crouched near the open hatch in the deck. “Hope you’re listenin’ to the cap,” he said over his shoulder.
“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered.
Michael tapped his wrist computer, bringing the target up on their HUDs.
“DZ is the upper weather deck of Renegade,” he said. “Think you can handle it?”
“Think you can?” Magnolia quipped.
“We’ll find out soon. See ya down there.”
With that, Michael dropped through the wide hatch with his arms over his chest, plummeting into the night. Magnolia followed.
They were only at ten thousand feet—barely half a minute to pull their chutes.
Moonlight sparkled in a white streak across the choppy water. In its glow, rusted towers rose from the water, lights burning across platforms where thousands of civilians lived.
After months of living alongside these people, she had started to put aside their differences and accept them, even after once being their prisoner. Fighting alongside General Santiago and especially Lieutenant Alejo, who had sacrificed himself so she could escape with Rodger, had helped her bury the hatchet.
But that hatchet was about to crack more skulls. Somewhere in the capitol tower, X was fighting for his life, and she would fight for him.
Magnolia speared through the sky in a suicide dive. At three thousand feet, Michael maneuvered into stable falling position, and she did the same.
Moonlight illuminated the airship rooftop with its twenty-millimeter machine-gun nests. The powder keg was open, and a spark would blow the whole damn thing up.
Michael pulled his pilot chute. It hauled the black canopy out, yanking him above Magnolia, or so it looked.
She reached down to her thigh, pulled her pilot chute, and felt as if she, too, were being yanked back up into the sky. Grabbing the toggles, she began homing in on the drop zone.
The two divers sailed over dozens of boats. They were low enough now that she could see armed warriors on the small craft in the glow of their torches. The vessels kept their distance, probably waiting for orders.
But their enemy wasn’t the one she had hoped they would rally to fight. These men and women hadn’t assembled to kill defectors or even the skinwalkers. Some of them—many, probably—wanted the sky people dead.
Muzzle flashes sparked on Renegade’s bow. Several more came from the center of the deck. As she sailed lower, she spotted the two factions. In the center, a group of Cazadores advanced behind metal shields. Another group had formed a wall of shields around a central figure.
She couldn’t tell who was who, even with her night-vision goggles on. Michael dipped down beside her and spiraled toward the command center.
Magnolia tensed up when she saw two figures up there, shooting arrows from longbows onto the deck.
“Oh shit,” she muttered.
Michael saw them, too, but it was too late to change course now.
If she could confirm that these were Carmela’s people, she would have no problem taking both warriors down, but what if they were aligned with the Barracudas?
She had only seconds to decide.
She let go of one toggle to raise the submachine gun slung over her chest, but Michael waved at her to hold her fire.
Grabbing the toggle again, she followed him toward the command center, preparing to do a short two-stage flare. Coming in over the starboard hull, she could see their DZ from the side. They had maybe thirty feet—plenty of room were it not for the two bowmen raining arrows on the deck. Corpses of three comrades lay crumpled near them.
In the final seconds of her descent, a bowman loosed an arrow, and his target’s red cape fluttered as he fell. It was the symbol of the praetorian guards, who had protected Colonel Vargas and other members of the Black Order of Octopus Lords.
The phalanx surrounded a figure with a black cape, and while Magnolia didn’t see a parrot, she knew that it was Carmela.
She grinned, eager to end the scheming woman’s reign.
It appeared that the Barracudas were trying to do the same thing. From the looks of it, they had caught her off guard by climbing aboard.
The two bowmen fired from the higher position while the team on the deck kept advancing, crouching as bullets punched into their thick shields.
Carmela’s team held their ground, popping up from behind their shields to fire in both directions.
Another bowman crumpled from rounds just as Magnolia and Michael touched down. Her boots hit the deck hard, and she had to hop to avoid the downed archer.
Michael lost his balance and rolled, sliding and getting wrapped up in his chute, but she managed to stay on two feet.
The last bowman turned with an arrow nocked.
“We’re friends!” Magnolia shouted. “¡Amigos!”
A bullet punched through his helmet as he lowered his bow.
She reached out, but he toppled over the edge and crashed to the deck. Rounds lanced the air above her, and she dropped to her butt.
Michael had already gotten out of his harness and stuffed the chute. He crouched with his submachine gun while she got free of her harness.
Enraged shouts came from below, along with the clank, clank of advancing shields on the deck.
Keeping low, Magnolia moved over beside Michael to have a look. Twenty-odd praetorian guards had surrounded Carmela with shields and armor against the advancing Barracudas.
Dozens of bodies littered a deck slick with blood and gore.
Michael opened an encrypted line to Captain Mitchells.
“Sir, we’re in position,” he reported, “and it looks like the Barracudas are about to clash with Colonel Moreto’s praetorian guards. Numbers are about even, sir, but we’re about to change that.”
“I’ve got a shot,” Magnolia said. “Just say the word and you’ll never have to hear that damn bird again.”
Magnolia kept Carmela’s helmet in her crosshairs.
Come on, give me the clear, Cap…
“X is still alive, and he doesn’t want her dead,” Les said.
“Sir, we both know she’s just waiting for the right time to—”
“Barracudas are dying for the king down here, sir,” Michael said. “Let us help them.”