Nicholas Smith - Hell Divers

Within seconds, a squadron of Sirens was soaring through the smoke and wheeling over the smoking bodies. He staggered closer to the edge of the bluff.

The realization hit him harder than a crosswind on a dive. The creatures were here to scavenge. Waiting for the fires to die down so they could feed on the burned bodies of his family and the other dead passengers of Ares . He started to feel his body for the first time since the crash.

When the numbness had finally passed, and the anger of a man who had lost everything took hold, he swung open the cylinder of his revolver and, with cold, stiff fingers, loaded the last of his bullets. Then he tapped his minicomputer to run a diagnostic on his suit. The cracked screen was frozen solid.

It didn’t matter. All he needed was enough battery to get to the wreckage and search it for his family so he could give them a proper burial. He would rather the Sirens ripped him apart than let them feed on his girls’ remains.

Weaver pushed the final bullet into the cylinder of his revolver and closed it. Trekking toward the wreckage, he tried to remember the words from Jones’ prayer, but after a few minutes he gave up. “I’m coming home, girls,” he whispered. “I’m finally coming home.”

Captain Ash ran through the hallways on her way to engineering. She couldn’t remember the last time she had visited Samson in the filthy compartment tucked just inside the hull of the Hive, but she couldn’t wait for him to report in. She needed to know their situation now.

The closest entrance was a two-minute walk from the bridge. Her presence drew the gaze of every resident flowing through the halls. Most were gazes of resentment and anger. They wanted someone to blame for the power shortages, the radiation poisoning, the meager rations. Naturally, that blame rested with her, even though she had done everything in her power to keep the lower-deckers alive. She had given them a third of the livestock from the farm, given them their own doctor—even given them extra rations. None of that seemed to matter to anyone. Most of them didn’t have any real grasp of how the ship operated. In the past, they had reverted to riots, and there were rumors of another rebellion brewing. She turned a blind eye to the black-market goods they sold, but violence was the one thing she absolutely would not tolerate on her ship.

Ash walked with her head held high because in the end, it didn’t matter what they thought, so long as she kept them alive. It was the burden many leaders had carried before her, and she shouldered it without complaining. One day, they would thank her when she led them to a new home, one with real ground beneath their feet and the sun overhead. But that dream seemed far away now.

A soldier standing guard outside engineering threw a quick salute as Ash and her armed escort approached. The entrance was tucked away in a dimly lit hallway off the main corridor.

“Captain,” the man said. He raised a clipboard. “I wasn’t expecting anyone from command this morning.”

“Samson doesn’t know I’m coming.”

“No problem, ma’am,” the guard said. He waved his key card over the security panel and hoisted the door open.

“Stay here,” Ash said to the two soldiers. The door sealed behind her with a metallic snick, and she could hear the hum and clank of the engine compartment. The noise reminded her that she was about to enter a world of grease and smoke—a world much different from the spotless white bridge.

Samson waited at the bottom of the staircase with his hands on his wide hips.

He scowled and raised his brows as if to say, I told you so . Ash didn’t have time to argue with him. She needed to know their situation, and she needed the information ten minutes ago.

“Talk to me,” she said. “How bad is it?”

Samson grunted. “Bad, Captain. Really bad. We’re running on battery power. I was forced to shut down all the reactors. There are several leaks.” He paused and massaged his forehead. “They’re contained—for now. But I lost four men. They sacrificed themselves so the radiation wouldn’t kill everyone aboard.”

Ash felt the anger threaten to take hold again. “I’m sorry, Samson…”

He held up a hand. “I don’t think you understand, Captain. The damage to the ship is critical. I’m not sure I can fix her this time. Six of our gas bladders ruptured from a power surge. We lost a thousand cubic feet of helium, and as you know, it takes time to produce more through our usual collection method.”

Ash could hardly believe what she was hearing. How could the ship go from being in its best in years, to worst?

Hades, that’s how.

Burying her misgivings over the ill-fated rescue attempt, she said, “How much longer until the gas bladders are fixed and refilled?”

Samson rubbed his eye, leaving a streak of grease. “I… I don’t know. Harvesting helium isn’t easy, Captain.”

“Then show me the damage.”

“With all due respect, I don’t have time for a tour,” Samson said. “I need to fix our ship!”

“And I need to see the damage so I know what I’m dealing with.”

“Suit yourself,” he huffed. He led her across the small lobby and into the offices. Row after row of faded metal desks filled the room, but only two engineers were working there.

Samson stopped at a door on the opposite end of the room and lifted a breathing apparatus from a cabinet on the wall. He handed it to the captain. “There was a fire earlier. Might still be smoke.”

Ash slid the mask over her face and tightened the band around her ponytail. Samson waved at the security camera and gave a thumbs-up. The door chirped and swung open.

A wave of heat rolled over them as they stepped onto the catwalk extending over the machinery. The hiss of steam and clack of parts that needed grease filled the room.

Engineers in light-blue coveralls clustered around the generators, checking displays and gauges to make sure the turbines were working properly, oblivious of the observers above them. They each had a task that, combined with the others, kept the Hive flying.

Samson moved to the other side of the mezzanine and pointed to a metal block, covered in white foam, on the aft starboard corner of the room. “One of the generators was destroyed,” he said. “There’s no fixing it. But it’s the reactors I’m most worried about.”

As they continued down the walkway, Ash imagined the thermal energy flowing from the reactors belowdecks to the generators. The steam produced by the heat turned a turbine inside as it passed, and the rotary motion created the electricity. The electric power then traveled through miles of conduit that stretched throughout the bowels of the ship, to all the places it was needed. That energy fed everything from the ship’s motors to the lights above her head. The nuclear reactors were the heart of the ship, powering all its systems.

“All but one of our reactors has been damaged,” Samson said. “The pressure valves on reactors two through eight are stuck. Even if I can unstick them, they still have to be replaced.” He pointed toward the west wall. “I have a team belowdecks now, and I’ve already diverted power from every source I can, but it’s not going to be enough.”

Ash followed Samson’s pudgy finger, which pointed to an open hatch. An engineer in a space suit crawled out of the opening and dropped to the deck. Even from a distance, she could see the grease and ash that covered him. The worker removed his helmet and broke into a coughing fit. A medic wearing a red cross on his arm rushed over, pulled an oxygen mask out, and helped the injured man slide it over his face.