Recap.

Thulani commits to exposing the council but doesn’t know where to start. He secretly skips working in search of answers. He has taken measures to obscure his actions from Olivia and Nandi.

Thulani sipped his algae tee, sweetened with plankton nectar. The sweet and savory flavors mixed perfectly. The spotlight overhead above the dining area in front of the cafe flickered annoyingly.

A thick systems-textbook lay open on the steel table before him, heavily highlighted, its margins crammed with notes. Thulani had spent hours, if not days, in that volume, but he didn't read it now. He sipped the tea as he flipped the page, but his eye glanced at the building across the grate road. A neon sign glowed over the door — The Joberg Oceanic Bulletin.

A man entered the new studio with a badge hanging on a lanyard around his neck. He didn’t appear to need to badge in from the outside.

Thulani's hand tightened around his yellow paper cup. Watching for hours hadn't clued him into their security practices more than that. Without going inside the building, all he knew was that the doors were locked after hours and the employees wore badges. Those cards could be systems keys, or they could unlock physical doors; he'd never know from out here.

He glanced at the two cameras covering the street, though he tried to keep his head down for whatever little good it might do. The longer he remained, the bigger footprint he'd leave should he be investigated.

Movement to his side made Thulani jump. "Do you need anything else, sir?" A server with a half-apron clutched a notebook; she shifted her weight casually.

Thulani looked up to her in surprise. "No, er, I'm still going," He shook his cup, sloshing the tea inside.

"Okay," the girl said courteously; she might still have been in secondary school with all the baby fat on her face. "Don't hesitate to call if you need anything."

Thulani smiled weakly and nodded. The server left. At first, Thulani thought she went to help another patron, but looking around, he saw that he was the only one at the cafe in the middle of the day. Very few Jobergians could afford to lounge at a teahouse in the middle of the day, and if they could, they would probably go to some luxury glass wall restaurant with a view.

Idiot. Thulani shifted in his seat. He didn't know what he was looking for, and the longer he sat here, staring at the Bulletin, the more suspicious he would look. He might find a weakness to exploit if he knew how to surveil.

Thulani sat up abruptly, a horrible idea forming in his mind. Dieno had been right; Thulani was no spy, and he pretended to be one who would draw much more attention than if he tried a more upfront approach.

Thulani paid for the tea on a wall-mounted interface, scooped his textbook, took a deep breath, and crossed the street. His heart rolled, and his armpits dampened as he committed to his plan.

Stepping into the open double hatchway, Thulani found himself in a comfortable receptionist lobby. Framed certificates of achievement hung over wallpaper, and white LED lights illuminated imitation wood furniture. A young, light brown man typed furiously at a computer behind a tall desk.

The receptionist didn’t notice Thulani until he practically stood in front of him.

"Oh," the man started, breaking away from his task. "How can I help you, sir?"

Thulani's mouth went dry, and he swallowed. "I want to apply for a job," Thulani said.

"Do you have an appointment?" the receptionist asked.

Thulani wilted. "No."

The man sighed and picked up a phone. "I don't know if anyone who can do interviews is available.

A bearded white man entered the lobby with a green badge and a clipboard.

The receptionist put the receiver down before he could make the call. "Hey, Jeremy, can you do a walk-in interview?"

The newcomer froze and then evaluated Thulani. Thulani forced himself to stand tall even though he cringed inside. Jeremy glanced at his watch and sighed. "Yeah, Follow me."

Jeremy led Thulani to an adjacent office similar to the lobby. "Have a seat." The man plopped behind a desktop computer.

"I'm sorry if this is inconvenient," Thulani stammered. "I didn't realize I needed an appointment.

"It's no problem," Jeremy assured Thulani as he logged in. "Can I see your I.D.?"

"I.D?" Thulani stammered as he habitually patted his pockets. "I, uh, I lost it in the raid. I haven't had the chance to get a new one."

The man sighed. "PIN?"

"583-113-997," Thulani said, his mouth dry.

The man punched in the numbers, accessing Thulani's public profile. "So, mister — Mabaso —"

"Thulani's fine," Thulani offered.

"Thulani," Jeremy said. "What makes you want to work in media?"

"It's been a secret dream of mine."

Jeremy's frown deepened as he read the screen. "Thulani — You don't have any baseline qualifications or certifications whatsoever."

Thulani’s fingers went numb. What a stupid plan. What did he expect? "You have to start somewhere, right?"

"Right," Jeremy agreed absently as he scanned the screen, “but you would start from the very beginning."

Jeremy cocked an eyebrow in surprise. "You're currently a dive pod tech?"

Thulani fidgeted. "Yes."

"You're a T-8 on the tech payscale."

"Yeah," Thulani said.

"Don't quit," Jeremy finally met Thulani's eyes. "T-8 isn't abundant pay, but it is honest. I couldn't pay a fraction of that for an entry-level position."

"What would I start at?" Thulani asked, reminding himself that this job would be a temporary means to an end. Still, Olivia and the baby came to mind.

Jeremy sat back and sighed. "I could start you as a T-4."

Thulani's heart dropped. He'd barely be making a third of what he made now.

"It's okay to have a dream," Jeremy sympathized, "but you need a plan. Study on your off days, get some certifications, and I bring you in as a T-6. That's what the secondary school kids come in as after getting licensed. If you took a T-4 spot, those kids would promote ahead of you and block your progression."

"So there is room for growth?" Thulani asked.

Jeremy shook his head. "That's what I'm trying to say; growth would be slower than a crawl."

"Do you have the books for these certifications you're talking about?" Thulani asked.

"We don't certify in-house," Jeremy said. "But you could probably get them from an intern after they pass their exams."

"I'll do it," Thulani said a little too fast, and Jeremy frowned.

A bead of sweat dripped down Thulani’s kneck as he realized Jeremy didn’t believe him.

Jeremy glanced back at the screen, and his eyes widened. "You're expecting a kid?"

Thulani cursed inwardly. He didn't realize Olivia's pregnancy would show on his profile.

"Look, Thulani, I don't think I could give you this job. Without a wealthy sponsor, your dream will ruin your life. I can't do that to you. Get your years in as a pod tech, and climb that ladder. It's slow, but it's livable. Media isn't for you."

"No!" Thulani cried, causing Jeremy to start. Thulani flushed with embarrassment. "I — I was lying to you."

Jeremy's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Media isn't my dream," Thulani expressed. "I just can't go back."

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

"Go back where?"

Thulani took a deep breath, surprising himself with the truth of his words. "I haven't been back to work since the raid."

Jeremy listened in silence.

"The violence was bad in my work area. I watched my friends get executed. I ran as men tried to murder me. I bled, and now I see my bay in my nightmares. I can't go back."

"Thulani," Jeremy said tactfully, "I'm sorry. Maybe you should see a mental health provider. I don't think media will give you what you need."

"Jeremy, It's not the violence that keeps me away." Thulani curled his hands into fists and heard the phantom thunder of water flooding his bay. "Have you ever been in a facility as it flooded?"

"No," Jeremy said.

"The ocean is a giant that roars as she tries to fill all the space. At first, you can run for the hatch, but as the water rises, it grabs your feet, trying to trip you. Her fingers are like ice, unforgiving and unyielding. You race against fate. The water inches up, and you sprint for the hatch, but if the water spills over the lip, you're sealed in a tomb of titanium and salt."

Thulani shivered and looked at Jeremy. "I've run that race. I can't go back. The truth is this is the city's furthest place from an outer hull. I never want to see water again."

Jeremy sat back and considered. “Thulani, I want to help, but you need a better plan.” Jeremy typed on his computer. "I'll give you a temporary position.”

Thulani looked up hopefully.

“Temporary,” Jeremy repeated sternly. “I want you to look for a better job while you are here. There are plenty of options that keep you in the metropolis and far from the sea.”

"Deal," Thulani said.

"You'll do a lot of busy work. Making copies, making tea, taking out the trash. Honestly, we have a big event coming up, and we could use more hands for busy work."

"Whatever you need," Thulani promised.

Jeremy nodded slowly. "I’m doing you a Favor, Thulani. You start tomorrow.”

*******

Recap.

Mandla’s crew is cornered. Stefanus presents a plan to escape but Mandla doesn’t believe it will work. As the clock ticks down. Mandla considers surrender.

"This isn't going to work," Mandla said with a frown.

"Fighting them while cornered isn't going to work," Stefanus countered.

"You're depending on far too many assumptions," Mandla said.

Stefanus frowned, his dark freckles wrinkling over his light brown skin. "If you have another plan, I'm all ears."

Mandla opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Stefanus had surprised him with his creativity. However, Mandla preferred tried and true tactics to out-of-pocket and whimsical strategies.

"Lieutenant Botha," Mandla said, causing the prisoner to jump. "You're the final corsair officer on the command staff. Can you talk your men into surrendering?"

Botha went pale but said nothing.

"You're trying to play your position neutrally, but at some point, you need to choose. We're not going to reward your indifference.

"Botha won’t cooperate. You're wasting your time," Francois said. As a former Corsair, Francoise knew Botha better than anyone. He frowned at the Jobergian’s predicament. "Botha might be the next chain of command leader, but Lekota's in charge now. In fact, Lekota will likely flush Botha for being taken alive."

Botha flinched, and Francois leaned in towards Botha. "Face it. Sir, your only recourse is with us."

"Mandla," Andries said from the security panel. "They've abandoned the reactor and are right outside the wardroom. They'll get through to us in the next fifteen minutes.

Mandla hammered the command panel with a fist. Mandla was good, but not good enough. If he had a team of special operators, that would be one thing, but he had half a team of lightly trained gangsters and a few enemy defectors. He trembled and swore bitterly. "We've lost the sub," he said.

"Sir, I promise you, with Lekota, surrender is not an option," Lesego said, stepping beside Francois. Both men defected early, a move that placed them in Mandla's good grace but would likely get them killed. Unless they turned on him, it would be the smart thing. Mandla searched the pair for signs of treachery, but if they had ill intentions, they hid them well.

"Ja, Mandla," Mbeki called from the wardroom. "Enemy wants to talk."

Mandla froze. Could negotiation get his men off the sub alive? The prospect of failing Mr. Vermeulen made Mandla sick. But he wouldn’t lead his men to their deaths if victory was unattainable. Only luck and surprise had carried them thus far. If Mandla could ensure the safety of his men, he’d accept the enemy's terms.

Mandla looked to Stefanus, the salesman. "Get to your positions," he said. "If this doesn't go well, follow your plan. Jabulani, Francois, with me."

The trio entered the wardroom as Mandla had left it. The rank smell of blood and piss hung in the air, and they stepped over the bodies of the fallen. Mandla shot a somber glance at Junior, Sipho, and Azwi, who lay cold on their backs rather than crumpled where they died. Mbeki or some of the others must have laid them out.

Mbeki manned the room alone. The wiry, short man’s arms hung unnaturally low, nearly reaching his knees. His comb of dreads tied back with a bandana swung as he gave Mandla a nod.

"Mbeki," Mandla said.

"Hmm?" Mbeki narrowed, jaundiced eyes.

"Get back to the sonar room."

"Ja ja bossman," Mbeki scuttled back down the corridor.

"What an oddly proportioned man," Francois muttered, unease tightening his voice.

"We called him the goblin back on Joberg," Jabulani said quietly, glancing down the corridor. "The guy's weird."

"Guys, watch the smuggler hatch,” Mandla instructed and pointed to the crawlspace, now barricaded with bodies.

"Hello?" A voice crackled from the hatch intercom.

Mandla crossed to the panel and pressed the PTT.

"This is Commodore Zwane," Mandla said.

"This is Petty Officer First Class Lekota." The low voice wavered as if trying to project control over rage. "I have sixty men and control half of the sub. I'm hoping we can come to an agreement to mitigate bloodshed."

Mandla knew Lekota had forty men at best, but the petty officer knew how to play the game.

"Are you offering to surrender?" Mandla asked. A ridiculous notion they both no doubt knew, but he had to try.

"Don't waste my time," Lekota growled. "If I have to breach one more hatch to get to you, I swear I'll make you suffer."

Mandla clenched his jaw. He wasn’t fooling anyone. "And if we open the door and surrender, you flush us?" Mandla assumed.

The voice went silent for a moment.

"Commodore, you've fought well; I can respect that. Some may say you've fought without honor, but you're doing your best to protect your side. Surrender the ship to me; I'll deliver you and your men to your precious colony unharmed. On my honor."

"I want to take some of your men with me," Mandla said, glancing at Francois. "I've lost many soldiers, and so have you. Give me those who want a chance to escape this life."

"Ah," Lekota reflected. "You speak of the defectors,"

A faint click and scratch from the door told Mandla that Lekota had men actively trying to override the hatch.

"I'm afraid I can't tolerate men without honor. They will be flushed as per our code."

"No deal, then," Mandla said. "I've accepted them as my men, and I don't surrender unless you make provisions for all of my men."

A low, predatory chuckle crackled through the speaker. "If you make me lose more men before I take the control room, I won't just flush you. I'll strap you to the reactor and watch you melt."

Clicking and scratching continued at the door.

"If you open that door while we're negotiating, I'll cut your throat," Mandla warned. The noise stopped.

"You know what confuses me?" Lekota said. "I've never heard of the Joberg Defense Corps. I know they've got a police force but no military. Why did your councilmen betray us?"

Mandla considered the question.

"Unless, of course, you don't represent the council. Maybe a third party in Joberg?"

Mandla remained silent.

"Maybe foreign interests. But who could have done this? Are you with the Brass Fleet? That would explain your desire to save the traitors. The Highway Keepers couldn't have pulled this off. Maybe the Current Surfers. You don't sound like Nijan's."

"There are a lot of sea lords in the strip," Mandla agreed. "New ones rise as fast as old ones fall."

Lekota laughed dryly through the intercom. "Are you implying the Coral Corsairs will fall soon? We've never been stronger."

"Yet you let a disgruntled collection of laborers from an isolated colony destroy one of your war boats and take another."

"What's your final answer?" Lekota asked.

The prospect tempted Mandla, and he glanced back at Francois, who’s forehead was slick with sweat. If Lekota was true to his word, his offer was generous. However, he had taken Lekota and Francois as his own men. Logic and numbers mattered, but a warrior had to have a code. Mandla wouldn’t sell some of his men for the lives of others. He hit the PTT. "Surrender, and we'll drop you off at a local port of your choosing. Who knows, maybe the Brass Fleet has a place for you."

"Very well," Lekota said.

The clicking and scratching continued.

A gunshot behind caused Mandla to spin.

"Contact rear!" Francois barked, his smoking rifle pointed at a gap in the smuggler's hatch. Francois and Jabulani fired at shadows in the smuggler's crawlspace.

"Stefanus, now!" Mandla roared down the corridor.

Mandla popped two smoke grenades, and Stefanus triggered the fire suppression system from the control room.

"You two, to your positions!" Mandla snapped at Francoise and Jabulani as water and flame retardant drenched them.

The wheel on the hatch started to spin as Lekota's men bypassed the lockdown measures. From the opening gap, the Corsair's warcry sounded from many throats.

"Ah roo hah! Ah roo hah! Ah roo Hah..."

"Get to the control room!" Mandla hollered as the lights went out, plunging the wardroom into darkness.

********

Thulani set up his new camera on a tripod. With a plain bedsheet backdrop on the wall behind him, his finger hovered over the record button when Dineo entered.

Maintenance had finally returned light to the apartment, so Thulani at last saw the old man in decent light.

"You fixed it?" he asked, motioning to the camera.

"I tried," Thulani said. "The raiders were thorough with the recording equipment. I had to buy a new one."

"Looks expensive."

Thulani winced. It was. He drained his account. Olivia would notice.

"You shooting your video?" Dieno asked.

Thulani nodded, peeking at his script written on a whiteboard behind the camera.

"Do yourself a favor, boy. Cover your face, and don't use your real name.” Dieno looked around sadly. "That's what got her killed."

Thulani glanced at the first line inked out on the whiteboard.

'Hello, my name is Thulani, and I know the truth.'

Thulani considered, nodded then, and went to alter the script. He erased his name. Could he leave it out? No, a name was important; in fact, a name was an opportunity. How could he catch attention without exposing his identity? He could borrow a name they would never forget. Something that caught attention and added mystique would leave a lasting impression. His marker hovered for a moment, and then he wrote.

'Hello, my name is Cthulhu."