Nicholas Smith - Deliverance

“Name, age, and occupation,” Jordan said. He paused for a second and then added, “And tell me why you’re here.”

Jordan nodded at a thin man dressed in black pants and a button-up blue shirt.

“Tom Price, age thirty-four, assistant cook,” the man said. “I volunteered to be a diver because my wife and daughter could use the extra rations.”

Jordan nodded, unimpressed. His eyes flitted to the next diver, a short woman with dreadlocked hair and piercing blue eyes. She reminded him a bit of Magnolia.

“Jennifer Hodge, forty-one, farmer. I’m here because my daughter was diagnosed with cancer and she needs treatment.”

She held Jordan’s gaze, and he could tell she was angry. Whether it was directed at him or at her situation, he wasn’t sure. She would need to be monitored.

Next came Lester Mitchells, the tallest man on the entire ship. The tuft of thinning brown hair on the top of his head reminded Jordan of some sort of extinct bird.

“Les Mitchells, but most people call me Giraffe,” he said with a wry smile. “I’m thirty-five years old and have been an electrician my entire life.”

Jordan waited for him to continue, but Mitchells simply looked at him.

“Why did you volunteer?” Jordan asked.

“Oh, right.” Mitchells scratched his scalp. “I’m here because I ain’t got no choice. My boy got caught stealing, and Sergeant Jenkins said my service will reduce his sentence. My wife is sick and needs meds—something I can’t afford. I was promised help in return for service.”

Jordan glanced at Jenkins. The sergeant’s reluctance to meet his gaze did not inspire confidence. Was Jenkins hiding something? Was he planning something?

The more Jordan thought about it, the more his unease grew. After Katrina’s betrayal, he had no one left he could fully trust—not even the loyal sergeant who had served in the militia for almost as long as Jordan had been alive.

You can trust yourself—and only yourself.

Jordan looked at the final recruit, a well-built man with thick strawberry-blond eyebrows that seemed to be trying to make up for the lack of hair on his bald pate.

“I’m Don Olah, with the militia. I’m here because I want to continue serving my ship and my captain. I feel diving is the best way to do that, sir. I will happily give my life so humanity can continue in the sky.”

Jordan nodded at him, acknowledging his bold words. Finally, a man worthy of being a diver.

“While I appreciate those of you who volunteered, I will remind you that this is not a job. Diving is a duty —a duty that men and women have done for hundreds of years. Most of you are here because you want to help your families, but I suggest you start thinking like Ensign Olah.” Jordan paused and added, “If you fail, your families will die—along with all the rest of us. You are humanity’s last hope.”

Olah saluted, but the other three just stared blankly ahead, either too afraid to speak or too overwhelmed by the burden of the captain’s words to muster up a salute of their own.

“Since you’re all new, we’re going to start with green-zone dives,” Jordan said. “I’ve got a list of places I want you to scavenge.”

“Sir, could I speak to you in private for a moment?” Jenkins asked.

Jordan looked at the divers once more before following Jenkins over to the operations room. As soon as the door was shut, Jordan let out a sigh and said, “This is the best we have left on the ship?”

“No, but the best all hold important jobs,” Jenkins replied. “We can’t afford to take men out of engineering or the water treatment plant right now. It’s a matter of bodies—we don’t have many left.”

“We have four hundred and eighty-four passengers, and you’re telling me we don’t—”

“Sir, with all due respect, have you been to the lower decks lately?”

Jordan paused and then shook his head.

“Most everyone below our boots is starving or sick. They don’t have the energy to train, and they definitely don’t have the energy to dive. Most of them aren’t educated, either, and it would take too much time to explain how all this works.”

Jordan cursed. Losing Michael Everhart and the others had come at a heavy price. With their deaths, the Hive had lost not only experienced divers, but engineers as well.

“What about the fifth diver I asked for?” Jordan said. “Certainly you can find one more. I eventually want two teams again, maybe even three.”

“I’m still working on it, sir. Thought maybe we could make some sort of an arrangement with that technician, Ty Parker.”

“Negative,” Jordan said. “Parker is a traitor, and I don’t trust him. He knows too much. I can’t afford to let him out of the brig.”

“I say give him the ultimatum: dive with a chute as long as he keeps his mouth shut, or dive without one.”

Jordan eyed the collection of framed photographs, some of them dating back decades, that covered one wall of the operations room. Dozens of Hell Divers stared back, their expressions ranging from cocky to scared, to stoically noble. “As it happens, I’ve taken matters into my own hands.”

Jenkins raised a gray eyebrow. Jordan pushed the black bead of his headset comm link to his lips. “Lieutenant Hunt, send our recruit to the launch bay.”

“Roger that, Captain,” Hunt replied over the channel.

“Our fifth diver will be here in a moment,” Jordan said. “Is there anything else you wanted to report?”

“Yes, sir. There’s one other thing.”

Jordan clasped his hands behind his back and waited.

“Sir, you tasked me with finding the divers, but I have no idea how to train them. I’m a militia man, not a Hell Diver.”

“That won’t be a problem,” Jordan said. He studied the wall of photographs and stopped on Aaron Everhart, Michael’s father, who had died on a mission over a decade ago.

Jenkins looked confused. “Lane and April are the only two divers left, and they’re both out of commission. Unless you mean to release Katrina?”

Jordan looked next at the photo of Katrina, pinned up beside Xavier Rodriguez, the ghost that haunted his dreams. The two had been lovers, and he had to admit they made a good-looking couple. For years, Jordan had wondered whether Katrina still missed X, but now it didn’t matter. She hated Jordan, and he doubted there was anything he could do to convince her he wasn’t a villain.

Still, he would protect her. Not in the hope of rekindling their relationship, but for their child.

“Not Katrina. She’s pregnant, and she is… unpredictable. I won’t have her train these divers. I’ve found someone else—someone who went through the training and even has several dives under her belt.”

As they left the operations booth, the fifth and final diver walked into the launch bay.

“There she is now,” he said.

Turning, Jordan studied the sergeant’s features. His face had gone slack with shock at the sight of the short, dark-skinned young woman walking across the bay. She moved quickly with a stride that exuded confidence.

“Erin?” Jenkins said. “What the hell are you doing here?”

She raised a hand and said, “Hi, Dad.”

“This is the biggest damn storm I’ve ever seen in my life,” Magnolia said. She stood in front of the radar station with Michael, Rodger, and Layla. The island of radar and operational equipment chirped, beeped, and flashed data.

They had finally managed to fix the third and fourth thrusters, increasing the ship’s speed, but Magnolia still had a laundry list of other things to get back online. Her gut growled. The ship wasn’t the only thing running low on power.