She looked over to Les, and he answered the question that she need not even ask.
“Still no contact with the airships or the Sea Wolf, Captain.”
She sighed and put her hands in her vest pocket, looking down at the remains.
“He’s been dead a very long time,” Trey said.
Les walked over for a better look. It was easy to wonder about the long-ago life of each body he saw from the Old World. Who was this man? How had he lived his life? And the most compelling question of alclass="underline" How did he die?
Bones darkened by a lightning strike lay on the table in front of the divers. The elements hadn’t left much to examine. The uniform and suit were almost entirely gone—only a few brittle swatches hanging off a twisted duty belt.
Katrina gently took off the helmet to reveal a mummified face of shrunken skin stretched over cheekbones. The eyes looked like raisins, and the lips were just as shriveled.
She walked away from the table with the helmet and held it under a light.
“Les, you think you can get this helmet cam to work?” she asked.
He joined her under the light and took the helmet, turning it over. A camera was mounted on the top, right above the faded flag of the United States of America.
“I’m not sure,” he said, “but I’ll give it a go.”
The radio suddenly crackled behind them, drawing everyone’s attention away from the helmet and remains.
“Captain DaVita…” A flurry of white noise followed, then, “Captain DaVita, this is Chief Engineer Samson. Do you…”
Katrina and Les rushed over to the radio equipment. She took a seat in the chair and grabbed the receiver.
“Copy, Samson, this is Katrina.”
“Where the hell you been, Cap?” he replied.
Katrina closed her eyes and let out a sigh of relief. “We’ve been busy. Very busy. It’s a long story, but as you may already know, Red Sphere was an ambush. We escaped in a navy ship called the USS Zion and are sailing for the Virgin Islands to render aid to the Sea Wolf.” She paused before adding, “They found the Metal Islands, Samson. They are real.”
“Are you freaking kidding me?” Samson replied, his voice breaking up from the bad connection. “You shouldn’t play jokes on an old man, Cap.”
“This is real,” Katrina replied. “Contact Ensign White aboard Deliverance and tell him to meet us at the following coordinates. I’m sending some of the divers back up to the ship. They are then to dock with the Hive, where Lieutenant Les Mitchells will recruit an army.”
“An army?” Samson asked. “Whatever the hell for?”
“To help X and Magnolia if they are still alive, and to take the Metal Islands from the Cazadores.”
Les swallowed at the implications. All this was new to him, and he exchanged a look with his son, who seemed shaken by the assertion that they were going to war.
Hell, Les was terrified of the idea, but was now the time to argue? He decided it was. “Captain, all due respect, but most of the people aboard the Hive are in no shape to fight.”
“And your job is to find the people who can fight,” Katrina said. “I don’t need a huge army because I have something the Cazadores don’t have.” She paused again. “We have weapons of war aboard Deliverance and the USS Zion.”
“I’m of the same mind as Lieutenant Mitchells,” Samson said. “Most of our passengers have never held a weapon any deadlier than a potato rake. They’re not used to violence, nor have the heart for it. These Cazadores, from what I know, are brutes.”
Katrina seemed to ponder his words for a moment. It gave Les time to consider what lay ahead.
“You have your orders, Samson, and I expect you to follow them. I’ll have Les send you the coordinates shortly. I’ve found a break in the storm, about ten miles from here. Deliverance will hover over the clouds there, and we will send up our injured. I will continue with the USS Zion to the Metal Islands, where Deliverance will meet us when we’re ready to attack.”
“What about the Hive?” Samson asked.
“We will bring her, but keep her out of view,” Katrina replied.
Les expected the chief engineer to protest the plan, but to his surprise, Samson replied with, “I hope you know what you’re doing, Captain.”
Static drowned out his transmission, but his voice came back over the speakers a moment later. His tone had suddenly changed.
“I can’t wait to see them,” Samson said.
“See what?” Katrina asked.
“Those islands. Our new home. I just hope we don’t have to pay too dearly for this place.”
The salt breeze carried another scent—a citrus smell that reminded Magnolia of the farm on the Hive. But this was different, more potent than anything on the airship.
She crawled over to the bars to see the next oil rig that the pilot of the boat was heading for. It wasn’t just a rig like the other metal platforms rising from the sea. Unlike the shanties built on the other platforms, this structure was like an ancient castle, with turrets and towers of metal, and pointy tops reaching for the sky. Even more impressive, rooftop-mounted solar panels angled toward the bright sun on turrets. They had to be on some sort of tracking system to get the most out of the light.
After several hours of traveling slowly through the Cazador-controlled territory, she was finally here, at the end of the voyage.
She took in the view in awe, almost forgetting the fear and dread boiling up inside of her guts. The gray towers were decorated with paintings, but she was still too far out to see the designs and pictures. What she could see were horizontal wings stretching out from the levels near the top. About thirty floors up, a central platform, jutting outward from the rest of the structure, held a garden of actual green trees.
Someone was standing there, watching the boat approach, but they were too high up for her to make out any facial features.
A king overlooking his realm.
This was not just another oil rig. This was the capital of the Metal Islands city-state.
The Cazadores standing next to the cage suddenly pounded their chests and made the same clacking sound with their teeth that she had heard from the citizens. Some sort of homage to their king, she supposed.
The driver slowed the boat and directed it toward a dock at the bottom of the towers. A massive door under the structure opened, revealing other boats docked there.
Magnolia glanced over her shoulder at the dozens of other oil rigs they had left behind. How was X supposed to find her and Miles now? And how was X supposed to fight through so many of these barbarians?
She turned back to the tower looming overhead and noticed something she had missed earlier. A dome-shaped roof crested the very top, right below the clouds. There, illuminated in golden sunlight, were the smooth lines of an airship.
For a moment, she thought the Hive had descended from the clouds to land on the castle. But this ship hadn’t flown in ages; she could tell by the forest growing on the rooftop. Hundreds of trees and plants basked in the sunlight, their branches thick with leaves and fruit.
Now she knew the source of the citrus smell.
The intoxicating perfume of oranges, limes, and other, unknown fruits wafted on the salt breeze. She took in a deep breath, wondering whether this might be one of her last.
“¡Arriba!” one of the men shouted at her. “¡Arriba!”
The boat drifted toward a dock, where dozens more Cazadores stood waiting. Many of them were armed with guns or blades, but several, wearing brown robes, stood with their hands clasped behind their backs.