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  Michael hated seeing them locked away and also hated that he had to post two militia guards and the two surviving Cazador soldiers outside.

  But the guards weren’t here to protect the crew of the airship from these people—they were protecting these people from the airship crew.

  Fear of transferring bacteria or a virus to the survivors had forced Captain Mitchells to isolate them at AI Timothy Pepper’s suggestion. The medical staff was busy running tests and treating them for exposure to radiation and toxins outside their bunker.

  For most of them, this was the first time they had ever left their underground shelter, and the journey had already taken a toll.

  Several of the adults and children coughed inside the sealed space. Technicians and medical officers in space suits treated the sick the best they could, but Michael feared they would lose some on the trip back to the Vanguard Islands.

  “Two hundred and fifty–plus years underground,” he said. “So many things could have killed them, and now we’re worried about a common cold.”

  “It’s like making first contact,” said Layla.

  Michael had a hard time understanding how just breathing on one of these people might kill them. He had spent his life in the skies before meeting the Cazadores. But life in the skies and dives to the surface had still introduced his body to the microbiota of today.

  Michael glanced over at the two Cazador soldiers standing guard. The two men had never spent time in a bunker, and like nearly all their people, they had spent their entire lives at the Metal Islands. Being exposed to outside elements made their immune systems resilient.

  The people now sequestered in the launch bay never had that luxury. Most of them had been sealed in a vault their entire lives. According to Timothy, who had translated several conversations with their leader, only two men in the entire group had ever seen anything outside those bunker walls.

  “Hopefully, the meds we have back at the Vanguard Islands will boost their immune systems,” Les said.

  “They’re all so timid,” Layla said. “I doubt they even know how to fight.”

  “Sure seems that way,” Les replied.

  “Some of them have to know,” Michael said. He thought back to the machine-gun nests and the wall of cars he had discovered outside the police station.

  It had appeared to be abandoned for some time, but someone in this group had known the people who manned those posts. And that knowledge had likely been handed down.

  “We didn’t find a single weapon, though,” Layla said. “Couldn’t they have picked up a knife or a dropped rifle in the cavern?”

  “One of them did,” Michael said, recalling the man who had run at a skinwalker and received an arrow to the chest. “He didn’t make it.”

  “If we hadn’t found them, they all probably would have starved over the next year,” said a female voice.

  Magnolia Katib walked over to look through the window. Rodger Mintel was right behind her, cleaning his glasses on his ripped shirt.

  “I want to talk more with Pedro,” Les said. He pushed his headset mouthpiece up to his lips. “Timothy, can you translate?”

  Pedro, the group’s leader, was sitting in a chair, talking to several other bunker survivors. He was a big man with long dreadlocks and a dark beard streaked with gray.

  Les fidgeted while he waited for Timothy to join him in the passageway.

  “I want to know more about the defectors,” Les said. “I think Pedro knows more than he’s told me.”

  “We should really let them rest,” Michael suggested.

  “They’ve been through a lot,” Rodger said.

  “No time to rest,” Les said. “Not with the threat of the defectors still out there. If they know the location of this base, I want it now, so we can destroy it.”

  The almost manic eagerness of his tone worried Michael. They still didn’t really understand what Pedro and his people knew about the machines, and Michael feared that the captain would try to force it out of them.

  Michael glanced back into the room. Most of the people not being treated by the technicians were resting on cots, but a boy no older than six walked over to stare back at them.

  He gingerly raised a hand, and Michael raised his prosthetic hand to wave. That seemed to scare the kid, who retreated several steps before Michael lowered his titanium hand and raised the other.

  The boy smiled, but not at Michael.

  Rodger was in the middle of making a funny face, bulging his eyes and sticking out his tongue.

  A woman got up from her cot and hurried over to scoop the boy up. She avoided eye contact with Michael and the other divers.

  “Rodgeman, you’re scaring them again,” Magnolia said.

  “Or they think he’s a god,” Layla said with a chuckle.

  Rodger put his hands on his waist and popped a hip at Magnolia. “Don’t hate me because I’m gorgeous, sunshine.”

  Michael grinned but grew serious. Pedro had turned to look at the divers. Several of the men and women with him did the same.

  It took Michael a moment to realize they weren’t looking at the divers—they were looking at Timothy. The glow of the AI warmed the dimly lit passage outside the launch-bay doors.

  “Captain, you’d like me to translate?” he said.

  Les nodded. “I’d like you to ask Pedro more questions about the defectors. Find out anything you can, okay?”

  “Captain . . .” Michael started to say. He let his words trail off, knowing that nothing he said would matter anyway.

  “Okay, sir,” Timothy said.

  The hologram walked through the bulkhead and into the launch bay. Timothy worked his way around the cots of sleeping people, waking several with his glow. They sat up and watched him.

  Pedro and several other men stood as Timothy approached.

  “Well, you did it, Commander Everhart,” Magnolia said. “You rescued the first human survivors we have ever found besides the Cazadores.”

  “We did,” he said.

  “Yeah, but now what do we do?” Rodger asked.

  “We start by getting to know them better,” Layla said. “Explaining who we are and where we came from.”

  “That’s what Timothy should be doing,” Michael said.

  Les looked over, clearly agitated. “Commander, the most important thing we can do right now is figure out what they know about the defectors.”

  “Okay, sir,” Michael said. “I’m going to go check on Arlo and Edgar.”

  Les moved closer to the window while the divers followed Michael down the hallway.

  “I’m worried about him,” Magnolia said as soon as they were in the next passage. “He’s obsessed with the defectors.”

  “Almost as obsessed with the machines as Rodger is with you,” Layla said.

  Magnolia blushed, and Rodger grunted.

  “In seriousness, do you blame the captain?” Michael asked. “They killed his only son.”

  “Yeah, still . . .” Magnolia shook her head.

  “You know, we’re going to have to tell these people about the Cazadores at some point,” Layla said.

  Michael sighed. She was right.

  “Technically, the skinwalkers are Cazadores,” said Layla. “So how are we supposed to explain to these people that we are bringing them to a place where the skinwalkers came from?”

  “We don’t,” Magnolia said. “No need to explain that to them.”

  Michael wasn’t so sure. He wanted to be honest with these people about the Vanguard Islands, their bloody history, and the threat that still existed out there.

  “We still don’t know exactly what happened back at home,” he said. “All X told me was that they averted a war and that General Rhino was killed.”

  “We’re heading home to more problems,” Magnolia said.

>   “But at least, we’re heading home,” Layla said. “We’re all lucky to be alive.”

  “I sure hope X is okay,” Rodger said.

  “He better freaking be,” Magnolia said. “Otherwise, I’m going to kick your ass, Rodge. After all, you promised you would protect him.”

  Rodger paused. “I know, but I decided to come protect you instead.”

  She let out a huff. “Like I need protection.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Layla said. “I mean, it’s X. He’s the Immortal.”

  Michael stopped outside the medical ward. The doors opened, and he gestured for Layla to go first.

  Inside, both Arlo and Edgar were sitting up in their beds, their battered faces swollen and red. Bandages wrapped Arlo’s midsection, and all four of Edgar’s limbs were bandaged.

  “Hey, Commander,” Arlo said cheerfully. He cracked a smile with several teeth missing.

  Edgar had a fractured jaw and could hardly talk at all. He managed a nod as Michael walked over.

  “How you guys feeling?” Michael asked.

  Arlo shrugged.

  Edgar grunted something that Michael couldn’t make out.

  “I think he said he’s happy to be alive,” Arlo said.

  Edgar nodded again.

  “You guys are lucky,” Michael said. “We all thought you were dead.”

  “How’s Eevi doing?” Arlo asked.

  “Not good,” Layla replied. “I should probably get back to the bridge and check on her since Les is at the launch bay.”

  “Good idea,” Michael said. “I’ll come.”

  “Probably for the best if you stay here, actually,” Layla said. “She hasn’t really wanted to talk to anyone; neither has Sofia.”

  “Where is Sofia, by the way?” Michael asked.

  “In her quarters, last I heard,” Layla said.

  “She also needs time to grieve.”

  “I’ll check on her, too,” Layla said. “See ya later, guys.”

  Michael watched her go, his heart aching for both Sofia and Eevi. He wouldn’t blame Eevi if she held him responsible for her husband’s death.

  Alexander had sacrificed himself so the divers could get into a tunnel. Michael kept replaying those moments in his mind, wondering whether he could have somehow saved him, but even if they had been able to drag Alexander into the tunnel, he had lost too much blood and been exposed to radiation and foreign toxins.

  Hell Divers all knew the risks.

  His father had known; Trey Mitchells had known; Alexander Corey had known. Dying was often part of the duty to humanity.

  Michael sighed and moved over to Arlo. He hadn’t spoken to him or Edgar much since they lifted off.

  “Thanks for coming back for us, Commander,” Arlo said. “I’ve never been so scared in my life.”

  “Thank . . . you,” Edgar mumbled.

  “I just wish we could have saved Alexander,” Michael said. “But I’m glad you two are okay. I thought you both were goners.”

  “Me, too,” Arlo said. He gripped his stomach. “That nanotech gel is already helping, man. So weird. I can almost feel it working.”

  “It better,” Michael said. “We used the last of our supply on you two, and we need you both back in action as soon as possible.”

  The lights flickered.

  “That’s weird,” Arlo said.

  An alarm blared, making him flinch on his bed.

  Michael jumped, too. Stepping away from the beds, he looked out through the open doors at a red light swirling on the bridge.

  The public address system crackled. “All noncritical personnel are to report to their shelters immediately,” Timothy said. “Everyone else, please report to your stations.”

  Michael moved over to the speaker on the bulkhead and pushed the button.

  “Timothy, this is Commander Everhart. What the hell is going on?”

  “Commander Everhart, we have a hull breach, and a contact has entered the airship.”

  Michael’s heart skipped.

  The doors to the medical ward whispered open, and the lead militia soldier, Corporal Banks, stepped inside. He had a glistening bald scalp, wide eyes, and a submachine gun in hand.

  “It’s . . . a Siren,” he stammered.

  “What the hell do you mean, a Siren?” Rodger asked.

  “One of those things is in here?” Arlo said, nearly falling out of his bed as he tried to sit up.

  “This can’t be happening,” Rodger said. “Mags, this is a joke, right? You guys are just messing with me, right?”

  “This is no joke,” Michael said, his face stern. “Now, calm down and stay here.”

  “But—”

  “Do it,” Magnolia said.

  Michael eyed Banks’s submachine gun.

  “You can’t use that on the ship,” Michael said. “Follow me to the armory. We’re going to have to kill this thing with crossbows.”

  Michael hurried out of the room with Mags and the militia soldier.

  “Wait!” Arlo called after them. “Can you leave that gun here?”

  * * * * *

  Xavier Rodriguez sat with a pillow propped behind his back. The view through the open windows in his humble quarters was spectacular, even though he could see it with only one eye. A swollen eyelid puffed around his other eye, blocking the view.

  Miles sat at the edge of his bed, watching clouds crawl across the blue sky while the warm breeze drifted into the room.

  But X couldn’t bring himself to enjoy the sunshine.

  A day after holding Rhino in his arms, his mind was as burdened as his broken body. Not only with thoughts of his fallen friend, but also with what happened on the mission to Rio de Janeiro.

  Although the mission had been a success in finding survivors, it had come at a grave cost to the Cazadores and to his people.

  A rap came on his door, and Lieutenant Sloan walked inside. Chief Engineer Samson was also with her, but he stayed in the hall, coughing into his handkerchief—something he was lately doing more and more.

  If X had to guess, the third figure in his blurred vision was Dr. Huff.

  “How are you doing, King Xavier?” said the doc’s voice.

  X groaned as he tried to sit up straighter. “Like a whale ate me and shat me out into the mouth of a shark,” he said. “Then the shark chewed a while, decided I didn’t taste good, and—”

  “We get the point,” Sloan said.

  “I need to check your dressings,” Huff said.

  “I’m here to help,” said Sloan. “But don’t worry, I’m not giving you a sponge bath.”

  Thank the Octopus Lords, X thought.

  She moved to the other side of his bed and helped rotate his body slightly while Huff examined his arm. He put on his glasses and bent down to check the freshly closed surgical incision.

  Miles turned from the view of the sky to watch the doctor.

  “It’s okay, buddy, they’re trying to help me,” X said.

  He winced from the burn shooting up and down his limb as Huff rotated it gently and Miles bared his teeth.

  “Uh, he’s not going to bite me, is he?” said the doctor.

  “If I die, maybe,” X said. “Or if I act like you’re hurting me.”

  “You’re not going to die, but this wound doesn’t look too good, and I’m recommending you stay in bed.”

  “Can’t you just give me some of that nanotech gel?”

  “I sent the rest of our supply with the Hell Divers,” Huff said. “And even if we had it, it wouldn’t help your cracked ribs.”

  X glanced down at his body. He had more cuts than he could count and had taken two arrows.

  “The trauma you took would have most people down for weeks,” Huff said.

  “It would kill
most men,” Sloan said.

  “True,” Huff replied. “In any case, I am ordering you on bed rest for the foreseeable future.”

  “Hell no,” X said. “I’ve got a council meeting in a few minutes.”

  “No, you don’t,” Sloan said. “I’ve already informed Imulah you aren’t coming and that we will proceed without you.”

  X glared at her. “You did what?”

  “Sir, you are in no shape to go to a council meeting.”

  Huff stared as if he couldn’t believe that X would consider getting out of bed.

  “You may have more than nine lives, but you’re not an immortal,” Sloan said. “You’re a man, and you can die if you don’t take care of yourself.”

  X grunted. “I almost died in the wastes a dozen times, and I was way sicker than this for most of them.”

  “I don’t care,” Huff said. “Stay in bed if you want to get better.”

  “You aren’t listening to me,” X said.

  “Fine, you can listen or not, but for now, I need to continue checking your wounds, so please turn over.”

  Sloan helped X turn to his side. The movement sent a spike of pain across his cracked ribs. He lowered his arm and checked the stitches now that the bandage was peeled back.

  The wound was a nasty one, and he could tell by the color that the flesh was becoming infected.

  “Not good,” Huff said. “I need to keep a close eye on this one. If it gets into your bloodstream and you get sepsis, you’re going to be in major trouble.”

  They rotated him again to check the other arrow wound, on his upper chest, which had required cutting into his back.

  “This one’s also pretty swollen,” Huff said.

  X looked at Sloan and found no trace of jocularity on her face. She was concerned, and for good reason.

  X hadn’t told either of them yet, but he felt a fever coming on.

  If this was the beginning of an infection, he could be taking a turn for the worse.

  You don’t have time for this shit. Your people need you.

  “So am I going to die, or what?” X joked.

  Miles looked at Huff.

  “Not just yet,” Huff said after a beat.

  “That wasn’t convincing, Doc,” X said. “Remember, Miles isn’t going to be happy if you let me die.”