Nicholas Smith - Hell Divers

“This goin’ somewhere, kid?” X asked.

“At first, it did occur to me that I had traded a prison sentence for a death sentence. Bad trade…” She paused to down the rest of her mug, then wiped her mouth on her sleeve. “Look, what I’m sayin’ is, I know I’ve been a real bitch. But the truth is, we all gotta die sooner or later. And if it’s gotta be sooner, well, I’ll be proud to have done one worthwhile thing with my life first.”

X sat back in his chair, studying Magnolia thoughtfully.

“I guess I just want to say sorry for the way I’ve acted,” she said. “I hope you don’t hate me.”

X caught a glimpse of Katrina, watching from her seat at the other table.

“No need to apologize,” he said. “Just don’t fuck it up tomorrow, and we’re good.”

Magnolia smiled and took another drink. “Shit, this is really good beer. Where they been hidin’ it? Makes me wonder what else we’ve missed out on.”

“I often wonder that, too,” Murph said, banging his empty mug down on the table.

Magnolia played nervously with a lock of purple hair. “Sometimes, I think about all the things we’ll never know about. Foods we’ll never taste, places we’ll never see. Things from the books, like waterfalls and forests.”

“And Sirens,” Cruise called out from the other table, laughing.

Magnolia scowled at him, then winked as she reached for another beer.

“That’s why Captain Ash is looking for a new home,” Sam added, his face serious and stern. “So that someday, our children, and their children, will grow up with all the things Magnolia mentioned.”

X set his empty glass down on the table and scratched his chin, considering his next words carefully. As a younger man, he, too, had longed to see the things Magnolia described. He knew better now, of course, and he also knew that grasping on to false hope was worse than facing reality head-on.

“Every captain in the history of the ship has been looking for a new home,” X said. “But like I said yesterday, that shit doesn’t exist. Ninety-six dives, and I’ve never seen anything remotely habitable. Forests are dust and a few fallen snags. Waterfalls are cliffs of polished rock. The only life is mutant monstrosities like the Sirens.”

“Nice buzz kill, boss,” said a musical feminine voice. He didn’t need to look up to see Katrina standing behind Sam.

“Pull up a chair,” Magnolia said, patting the bench beside her.

“Thanks,” Katrina replied. “You’ll have to forgive X. He can be a bit morbid—just one of his many charms.”

“Doesn’t everyone deserve to know the truth?” X said, slurping down a forkful of noodles.

“Right, because you’re the master of telling the truth,” said Katrina, a tinge of bitterness in her voice.

X’s team looked from their leader to Katrina. After a moment, Magnolia broke the tension.

“Most people don’t give all that much of a shit,” she said. “They only care about surviving. Another day, another handful of credits. They don’t worry about anything ’cept their next meal.”

“You’re right,” Katrina said. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. We do what we do, so the rest of those poor bastards keep flying—and breathing—for another day.”

Sam looked over at Murph. “Alright, I know why Magnolia became a diver, but how about you?”

The engineer folded his hands. “I lost my wife to cancer, and my son to the flu, a little over four years ago.” He bowed his head. “I miss them every goddamn day. But I always wanted to see the surface—imagine how it must have been once. Figured I have nothing to lose.”

X realized how little he still knew about the divers from the other teams.

“Sorry to hear about your family, Murph,” he said. “I lost my wife about a year back.” He turned to Sam. “How about you? Why’d you saddle up to jump?”

Sam didn’t look entirely sure he wanted to talk. After a moment, he said, “I joined the Militia a few years back, thinking it was the best way to protect the ship. After the food riots, I realized maybe I could make a difference some other way than cracking heads.”

“I’m glad you picked diving,” X said. “And I’m glad all of you are on Raptor.”

“Thanks,” Sam said. “Good to be here, sir.”

X looked at his watch. It was after eight in the evening. He had lost track of time, and Tin was still with Layla’s family.

“Sorry I got to duck out early,” he said, “but I got a kid to get home to.”

Katrina’s eyes pleaded with him to reconsider. She arched her back ever so slightly, the swell of her breasts beneath the red jumpsuit reminding X of what he could have.

Part of him wanted to take her up on the tacit offer. But the rest of him knew it was a bad idea. He had other responsibilities now. He hadn’t been much of a husband, and he never had the chance to be a father, but he’d be damned if he didn’t do right by Tin tonight.

“I’ll see you all in the morning,” he said. “Get some rest. Tomorrow’s a big day.” He patted Murph on the shoulder and nodded at the rest of his team, smiling like a benevolent patriarch.

Then he grabbed an apple and, cradling a bowl of noodles under his arm, left.

He felt the stares from every diver burning his back. Two months ago, he would have stayed and drunk them all under the table. Now he was hurrying home to make sure his dead best friend’s kid ate a decent dinner.

When he had the sudden, overwhelming gut feeling that this could be the last chance he ever had to take care of Tin, he started walking faster.

Commander Weaver tracked the high-pitched cries through the city street. They had dwindled into a lonely sound, cold and melancholy. As a kid in history class, he had once heard a recording of whales communicating. The sounds were similar, but those extinct giants of the former oceans were far different from the leathery horrors now hunting him on the ground.

He stopped and rested, leaning against an ice-crusted streetlamp. A long screech, sounding as if an electronic oscillator had been possessed by demons, echoed through the city. Two more of the voices answered, but their lonesome cries died in the howling wind.

Weaver holstered his revolver and unsheathed the tactical knife strapped to his thigh. He took a moment to get his bearings. Two skyscrapers leaned together overhead, their pointed tips creating a skewed arch. He felt unsafe just looking at it. It should have crashed down long ago.

His stomach gurgled as he stood there. He hadn’t eaten in over a day. He took a sip from the straw inside his helmet and sucked mostly air. Idly he wondered which would kill him first: the Sirens or dehydration. He raised the tip of his knife to his visor and considered the ways he could use the weapon to end it all right now.

But instead of opening an artery in his throat or wrist, he carefully chipped away the ice on his visor.

The clear view of the world made everything seem bigger, the streets wider. He continued into the next intersection and took a right. The end of the street had collapsed and sloped down, disappearing into what looked like a tunnel. He checked his minimap and saw that the passage was supposed to lead under the next city block. If he was correct, it would come out somewhere near the Ares wreckage.

Trotting over to the edge of the decline, he crouched and pulled out the binos.

Perhaps he jounced down too suddenly, because the snowy crust beneath him broke away and sent him sliding on his back down the icy slope.

He rolled left to avoid impaling himself on a black claw of rebar that jutted from a shattered concrete buttress. The binos flew from his hands as he hit a ramp of snow and went airborne before crashing down on a patch of icy concrete a moment later. His armor saved him from any broken bones, though the impact knocked the breath from his lungs. Sharp pain shot up his spine, and he flailed for something to grab on to as he continued his downward slide.