Michael closed his eyes to rein in his temper. It always came back to some variation on the same old fight. Layla was passionate and impulsive. She did whatever she believed was right, and thought about the consequences later if she thought about them at all. He admired that about her, but sometimes it made him want to scream. Disobeying the captain could result in their both being recalled from duty—or worse, get them a stint in the stockade.
“I’m talking to you, Michael Everhart,” Layla said.
“And you’re being unreasonable, Layla Brower. We have to pick our battles. You and I both agreed to that.”
Apparently, his calm, logical approach had been the wrong tactic. Her eyes were bright with anger, but she didn’t answer.
“There’s something I have to do,” he said, running out of both time and patience. “I’ll be back in an hour or so.”
“Whatever,” Layla said. Her eyes homed in on her launch tube. That made Michael pause. He couldn’t leave her here. No doubt, she would bribe one of the techs to let her dive, or stow away in one of the drop crates, or do something else equally rash.
“You want to come with me?”
Layla’s eyes flitted to his. “Where are you going?”
“Trust me?”
She hesitated less than a second. “Yes.”
He smiled, relieved. “Okay. I… okay. Let’s get out of here.”
They walked through a throng of variously colored coveralls: engineers in red, technicians in yellow, Hell Divers in black. Several militia soldiers stood at the doors, but a crowd was already forming outside. Launches were always off-limits to civilians, but that didn’t stop them from trying to sneak a glance.
Michael scanned the room for Captain Jordan. It appeared that he hadn’t shown up for this one. Unlike Captain Ash, he didn’t like venturing outside the bridge, especially to the lower decks or the launch bay. Michael couldn’t even remember the last time the captain had been present for a launch.
In Captain Jordan’s place, Katrina walked into the bay and ordered the doors shut. She was an older version of Layla: tough, smart, and stubborn. He had heard that Katrina was once romantically involved with X, but looking at her now, in her sleek white uniform and with her hair pulled back in a severe braid, Michael couldn’t imagine it.
He and Layla walked around a cluster of technicians working on Weaver’s tube. Weaver was loading a shell into the open break of his blaster. Extra shells and magazines for his assault rifle stuck out of his vest. Michael didn’t need to ask why he looked as if he was preparing to go to war. They all had heard the audio from the Hilltop Bastion.
Weaver regarded them both with a nod. He dropped a flare into the weapon and snapped the break shut.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “If Magnolia’s down there, I’ll find her. But don’t hold your breath. Even if she survived the turbofans…”
Layla dropped Michael’s hand and cut Weaver off. “She’s alive, I know it. I can feel it in my heart.”
Weaver holstered the blaster and scratched the back of his ear. “I hope you’re right.”
Michael reached out to shake Weaver’s hand. “Good luck, sir.”
“Damn, I hate it when people say that. Son, it’s not luck. It’s experience.”
Michael wanted to remind Weaver how his father had died, how X had been lost despite being the most experienced Hell Diver in the history of the Hive, but now wasn’t the time.
They shook hands and parted. A few tubes down, Andrew was bending over a box of supplies. He held up an assault rifle with the Raptor logo on the side.
“Yo, Mikey. Mind if I borrow your gun?”
“As long as you bring it back,” Michael said. He didn’t really want to say yes. He hadn’t forgotten the way Andrew used to bully him when they were kids. Then again, if Andrew hadn’t kept flicking Michael’s tinfoil hat off his head, Layla wouldn’t have lost her temper and kicked him in the nuts. Michael almost smiled at the memory. That had been the day he realized that Layla liked him.
They all had matured over the past decade. Mostly. Andrew was still a meathead, but they were all Hell Divers now. Diving had a way of bringing them closer together. They trusted the man or woman in the next drop tube with their lives. Magnolia had proved that when she chose to sever the rope rather than pull them all down.
Andrew was pulling extra magazines from the crate and stuffing them into his vest as Michael and Layla approached.
“You think there are Sirens down there?” he asked.
“Something’s down there,” Michael said. “Let me check one thing before you go.”
He held his hand out, and Andrew handed it over. He raised the rifle toward the bulkhead. On the last dive, his shots had been ever so slightly wide left. He twisted the knob and handed the rifle back to Andrew.
“You see Sirens, you run. You got it?”
Andrew gave a toothy yellow grin. “Don’t worry, I’ll bring your gun back, Mikey.”
“And Magnolia,” Layla said. “Bring her back, too.”
An enthusiastic voice called from the crowd of technicians and divers. “Hey, wait for me!”
It was Rodger Mintel, carrying his helmet.
“Whoa! What the hell are you doing, man?” Michael asked.
“What it looks like.” Rodger stopped at his launch tube. “I’m going with them.”
Andrew stepped in. “Cap said only Weaver and me get to go.”
“Captain Jordan changed his mind.” Katrina was standing behind them, her arms crossed firmly over her chest. The tattooed head of a raptor showed on her forearm.
Layla took a step toward Katrina. “If he’s going, then so am I!”
“We’ve authorized a third diver and selected Rodger,” she said. “We need his engineering experience.”
Rodger tucked something into his vest pocket so quickly that Michael couldn’t see what it was. He didn’t have to guess why Rodger had volunteered to dive. If Layla were stranded on the surface, nothing short of death would keep Michael from diving. He and some of the other divers had a pool going about when Rodger and Magnolia would finally get together.
He turned his attention back to Katrina. “And what about my experience?”
“Don’t worry, Commander.” Rodger flashed a nervous smile. “I got this.”
“I hold rank,” Michael said, “and I’m respectfully requesting you send me instead.”
Katrina’s sharp gaze fell on him, but he wasn’t intimidated by her tattoos or her reputation. Or the fact that she was the captain’s mistress.
“Captain Jordan has made his decision, Commander.”
“Come on, LT,” Michael said. “We all know you have special powers of persuasion when it comes to the captain.”
“Excuse me?” Katrina said. She put her hands on her hips. “You’re way out of line, Commander.”
Layla squeezed his hand. “Don’t,” she whispered.
Biting the inside of his lip, he held Katrina’s gaze for a few seconds before finally backing down.
Katrina nodded. “That’s what I thought.” She turned away from the divers and cupped her hands over her mouth. “Everyone out! We’re clear for launch!”
The technicians finished their final checks on the three launch tubes while Rodger, Weaver, and Andrew fastened their helmets.
Michael patted Rodger on the back as he stared wistfully at his usual launch tube. This was utter bullshit, but there was nothing he could do about it. They left the room with everyone else and piled into the dark hallway. Michael could hardly see the grimy faces of the lower-deckers in the dim light. Bodies that hadn’t been washed in weeks pressed up against him as he and Layla walked away from the launch bay.
“Where are they diving?” one man asked.