Layla and Andrew stood behind Michael, their expressions thunderous. Weaver looked between the two groups and slowly ran two fingers over his gray handlebar mustache.
“What transmission?” Michael asked again. His voice was calm, steady, but Jordan could see he had gotten under the diver’s skin with the last jab.
There was no way to avoid telling them now. Better to let them in on part of the truth than risk their digging into the rest of his secrets. “A few hours ago, Ensign Hunt picked up a radio transmission from the surface. It was a distress call from someplace called Hilltop Bastion.”
Layla reached over and grabbed Michael’s hand. The gesture made Jordan glance in Katrina’s direction. She still wouldn’t look him in the eye. Instead, she leaned over the table and activated the monitor. A holographic display emerged over the table. She typed at the keyboard, and a topographic map of Charleston spread over the white surface.
Michael, Layla, and Andrew all took seats and studied the blue contour lines that described the location of Hilltop Bastion.
Jordan couldn’t believe he was considering a mission to scout the coordinates. He tried to keep his face expressionless as he cut in before anyone could ask the questions he knew were coming.
“Captain Maria Ash listed the settlement as one of many potential areas where there could be survivors. But we all know, the odds are next to nothing. We’re talking two hundred and sixty years, folks. No one could survive on the surface that long.”
“We’ve been in the air that long,” Michael said. “What makes you think people couldn’t survive underground if we can up here?”
“Because we don’t have monsters in the sky,” Jordan replied. He nodded at his XO. “Go ahead and play the audio file, Katrina.”
She typed in a command, and the wall speakers crackled.
“This is Governor Rhonda Meredith of the Hilltop Bastion, requesting support from anyone out there. The—”
Static.
“We’re low on food and ammunition. We can’t keep them back much longer. Please, please send support to the following coordinates…”
Jordan raised his hand, and the audio stopped.
“Ensign Hunt was able to decipher the rest of the message and provide the coordinates,” Katrina said, “but we have no idea how old this SOS is.”
“Even if the people are gone, this place sounds like a potential treasure trove of supplies and fuel cells,” Layla said.
“And potential threats.” Jordan looked at each diver in turn. “You heard the audio. Something was trying to get in.”
He gave the team leaders a moment to digest the information, hoping they would change their minds about the mission. But he could see they were ready to climb into their launch tubes.
Michael and Weaver exchanged looks. “Worth a shot,” the older diver said.
Jordan stood and pulled on his cuffs. Everyone else stood up in unison.
“I’ve made my decision,” he said. “I’ll agree to send two—and only two—divers to the surface to scout the facility for supplies.”
“I’d like to volunteer, sir,” Michael said immediately. “I can look for Magnolia while I’m down there.”
“Then I’m going, too,” Layla added.
Jordan shook his head. “That’s precisely why I’m sending Weaver and Bolden.”
“Sir, please,” Michael said. “It’s the right thing to do. If there’s even a small chance that Magnolia could still be alive, then we have to look for her. Like we should have done for X.”
Jordan glanced at Michael. Was that a dig to pay him back for the foil-hat comment, or did Michael actually know something about X?
“I saw X die,” Weaver said. “So did Magnolia and Katrina. You think we didn’t do everything we could?”
Katrina hugged herself, her eyes shining.
“I know…” Michael said, his voice trailing off.
Jordan scrutinized the young man for a second. He could read people well, and his instincts told him that Michael didn’t know anything.
“I can’t risk you two going on a futile search for Magnolia. She’s dead. So is X. The dead don’t come back. Is that understood?”
The room fell silent, the words stinging everyone in it. Jordan cursed himself. He had slipped, and badly. He had to mitigate the damage he had just caused with his insensitive words.
“If Weaver picks up her beacon after he lands,” Jordan said, “then he has permission to look for her. But that is not the primary mission. We’re already on an energy curtailment, Commander. Weaver’s priority is to find fuel cells.”
“With all due respect—” Michael began again.
Jordan held up his hand. The diver might not wear his ridiculous tinfoil hat anymore, but he was still barely more than a child. “Commander Everhart, I recommend that you not finish that sentence.”
“I’ll check out the coordinates, Captain,” Weaver said. He scratched at his gray mustache. “If there are supplies down there, I’ll find ’em.”
“Good.” Jordan looked toward the door and said, “Dismissed.”
Michael was the last to leave. He hesitated in the doorway.
“That is all, Commander,” Jordan said.
“Captain, I’m talking to you man to man here. Do you promise me that if Weaver finds her beacon, he can search for her?”
“I’m a man of my word,” Jordan said with a brusque nod.
“Thank you, sir,” Michael said.
He shut the door, leaving Jordan alone to contemplate the mission. As Captain, Jordan prided himself on his word, and on keeping the secrets that kept the ship in the sky. Sometimes, those things conflicted, but not today. Weaver was welcome to search for Magnolia, but he wouldn’t find her alive.
EIGHT
Michael placed his helmet in his locker and traced his finger over the Raptor logo. Nothing in his young life had ever meant so much to him. The symbol represented more than his team—it was the seal that bound the divers together in life and death. His father and X had been Raptors, and when Michael dived, he felt as if they were with him.
He shut the door and looked for Layla. The launch bay was teeming with activity, and it took him a moment to find her, standing at the edge of the growing crowd of techs and divers. Michael wasn’t the only one anxious to get back out there. He caught her eye and waved her over to the lockers.
“We should be going,” she said. “Not Weaver and definitely not Andrew. She’s our teammate, not theirs. They don’t care if she lives or dies.”
He shook his head. “They care.”
She reached out and grazed his arm with her fingers. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I know they care. I’m just so frustrated and confused.”
They stood there in silence for a few moments, watching the activity in the bay. It had been a few weeks since the launch tubes last opened. Divers tended to get antsy between dives. Everyone here was on edge and eager to get started. Even the civilians in the corridor beyond the launch bay were asking questions—questions that no one was going to answer.
While Weaver and Andrew geared up, Michael made his decision. He might not be able to rescue Magnolia, but there was something he had to do.
He kissed Layla on the cheek and turned away.
“You’re not going to stick around?” she asked. She scuffed the floor with her boot, and her eyes flicked upward. Layla didn’t play poker with the other divers, but if she ever did, Michael would be able to read her like a book.
He knew what was coming next.
“You’re running away, aren’t you? Going wherever it is you go when you’re upset. Without me. You should be telling Jordan to fuck himself and then leading a full team to the surface.” She was speaking faster now. “You’re the commander of Team Raptor, Michael.”