Recap.

After Thulani discovered a flaw in the oxygen levels, Raiders attacked his colony, Joberg. Using one of the Pirate's tablets, Thulani discovered the attack on the city wasn't wanton violence but that someone within the city leadership hired the raiders to cull the population and strategically rebalance the allocation of resources. After weeks of plotting and amateur espionage, he finally published the evidence to the city by hijacking a citywide broadcast.

Thulani’s chest tightened, his fingers trembling as a fleeting smile twitched across his lips. He had done it! Still, his heart fluttered, and he cast hurried glances around the metropolis. How illegal was it to infiltrate a new station to doxx corrupt politicians? He had tried his best to be subtle but had improvised through most of his plan.

Even now, he considered all the evidence that might be traced back to him. He had left a hard drive plugged into The Bulletin's servers. He had started working there only shortly before hacking their systems, and he had behaved oddly around his coworkers. His instincts urged him never to return to the Bulletin and to try to get his old job back immediately, but he knew that would look suspicious. Luckily, it was his weekend, and he wouldn't be due back for two days. He'd go back only long enough to avoid suspicion, but with his bank account virtually drained, he needed to find a way to supplement his income.

He glanced at a pair of elderly men playing a board game on a balcony. A part of his mind wondered if they were staring at him because they somehow knew what he had done or if they were casually looking at all who passed below.

Thulani shook his head; if he had been paranoid before, now he saw sharks in every shadow.

Thulani took the elevator to the top floor of his apartment tower. At his hatch, he took a deep breath. He had been hiding this from Nandi and Olivia, and now, he needed to transition back to everyday life without them noticing.

He swung the watertight steel door open and hesitated. Dim light from the small kitchen spilled into the living room. It was too quiet. Olivia said she'd watch the concert with friends, but there was no party.

He went to the kitchen and found Olivia leaning against the counter, arms crossed over her baby bump. She turned away, staring at the floor through puffy, red eyes. He sensed she had been standing there for a while.

Nandi sat at the table, her face a barely controlled storm, and she looked away when he stepped into the light.

"What's going on?" he asked cautiously.

Olivia's lips quivered as she looked away. Nanti's clenched fists trembled.

"Oh," Thulani sighed in resignation. He suspected they might eventually find out he had broken his word, but in his mind, that was always a problem for the future. "You saw it?"

"Everyone saw it, domkop!" Nandi exclaimed, bolting to her feet. "What the hell were you thinking? You didn't show your face, but you didn't even change your voice! And Cthulhu? The old nickname you tried to give yourself that never stuck in high school?"

Thulani winced, feeling the sting of her words. He had deliberately shot his video with amateur effects and never showed his face to conceal his identity, but he now realized the foolish oversight. His body went cold. If the girls instantly recognized his voice, what about his new co-workers?

"Listen," he said, raising a placating hand. "I need you to understand."

Nandi let out a harsh bark of laughter. "Understand? Thul, I understand that you promised us you wouldn't do this. You promised her!" Nandi pointed at Olivia, who stood still as a statue, still staring numbly at the floor.

Nandi slapped the table and jabbed a finger into her temple. "Bro, you never think! Did you consider what might happen if you get caught? You could go to Jail, Thulani!"

"Of course I did!" Thulani snapped, his temperature rising. "You're not considering the consequences of standing by and doing nothing!"

Nandi scoffed. "Here you go again. Thulani, we need you." She pointed to Olivia again. "She needs you! How can you be a father when you're so desperate to jump into the fire."

"I jump into the fire because I'm a father!" Thulani barked.

Nandi leaned over the table, her face warped with rage. "Not yet! And you won't make it if you keep this up!"

Thulani staggered back, suddenly numb. "What do you mean not yet?"

"I mean, do you really think they'll let you watch your child's birth from a prison cell?"

"I've acted as a father for years, Sister." Thulani's voice wavered, and the back of his throat pinched treacherously. "When Mom left because Dad couldn't take care of us, and after Dad killed himself, I'm the one who took care of you." Thulani's vision blurred. "I'm the one who protected you, who taught you everything I know. Don't tell me I'm not a father yet because I've been doing this for years."

Nandi's shoulder slumped, and she sat back in her chair. She bit her tongue, looking from the table to Thulani, searching for words. "You don't want to be like Dad? Be there for your kid."

Thulani ground his teeth, a palpable pressure bearing down on him.

"Girl," Olivia whispered so softly Thulani strained to hear.

"What?" Thulani asked, lowering his voice.

"We're having a girl," Olivia said, finally looking at Thulani, her eyes watering. "I found out this morning. I was going to tell you after work."

"Oh, Liefie," Thulani gasped and stepped toward her guilt and joy swirling like a whirlpool, but her brow furrowed, and he stopped.

"Of course, I'm mad that you're doing reckless things," Olivia said. Her nose practically glowed red as she sniffed. "The thing that's so much worse is that you've broken my trust. It's okay to say no. You could have disagreed and told us you would do it anyway. Instead, you promised you wouldn't, and you did." Olivia finally turned towards Thulani, hugging herself tightly.

While Nandi's words made him defensive, Olivia's words carved cavities of guilt inside him.

"Liefie," he choked.

"I need to be able to trust you, Thul. I need to trust you completely. What else have you lied about?"

Thulani looked down. They only knew he'd risked himself to expose corruption, not the cost he kept hidden. His hands trembled as he braced himself to confess. "I quit my job," he said, the words piercing like a stingray. Despite his claim about being a good father, he couldn't provide for his family while working for the Bulletin.

Olivia gasped, her hands flying to her lips.

"I promise I'll make ends meet," Thulani added hurriedly. "I know rent is due on Monday, but I have the skill. I'm better with systems than I realized. I'll take some side jobs."

Olivia gritted her teeth and shook her head. "Sometimes it's hard to tell if you love us or your crusade more."

"Olivia." Thulani recoiled. "You are my crusade." He reached for her, but she recoiled. He drew his hand back, a lump swelling in his throat.

Was he wrong? Was he closing his heart to the ones who mattered most? Could doing what was right truly warrant so many tears? At that moment, Thulani didn't know. Was he ignorant of the necessary sacrifices to survive at the bottom of the sea? Would he truly have done any better than the council? Were his expectations reasonable?

"I think," Olivia swallowed hard. "I need some space for a while."

Thulani's breath caught, but he didn't protest.

Nandi's hands curled into fists, and her jaw bulged, yet her eyes softened with a hint of worry.

Thulani nodded and breathed healthy oxygen paid for by the blood of the slain, yet he felt like he was drowning. "I think we could all use some space."

He turned but stopped at the doorway. "I know you might struggle to believe this right now, but I love and care for you dearly."

The familial friction rubbed Thulani so raw he didn't even pack a bag.

He crossed town, numb and alone. He eventually found himself outside a familiar steel hatch. Thulani hit the buzzer, waiting half a minute before the wheel spun and hit open, revealing Floyed blinking sleepily.

"Thulani?" he asked, rubbing his eyes.

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

"Hey, you remember how you said you wanted to help?"

Floyd shook the sleep from his head. "Yeah. What do you need?"

"I need a place to stay."

********

Recap.

Mandla and his crew fight for control of the Vortex rider. In a desperate attempt to even the playing field, they disable the oxygen generator, relying on emergency respirators to outlast Lakota's men. Realizing it wouldn't be enough, Mandla's men start fires to consume the remaining oxygen. Seeing the Jobergian's plan, Lekota throws his men at Mandla's team to regain control of the oxygen generator before it's too late.

Mandla ducked low as rounds sparked off the steel corridor.

"Mbeki, get back; I'll cover you!" His respirator muffled his shouted words. He popped back and fired into the thickening smoke in short bursts.

Mandla cursed Mbeki, who sprinted down the center of the metal hall, offering his back as a viable target. Passing Mandla, Mbeki dove into the auxiliary machinery room's hatch.

Mandla ducked back as a return burst of gunfire ricocheted down the hall. Sweat poured down his face, and the air around him thickened as the temperature climbed. Behind him, half a dozen thermal flares sputtered, casting turbulent shadows while oppressive fumes and smoke spilled into the hallway. Mandla's skin stung where burning gases found gaps in his suit, and his eyes watered in the smoke. At least he breathed pure air—through a hose to the canister on his back.

A grenade bounced off a wall and rolled toward him.

"Frag!" Mandla screamed as he ducked into his hatchway. He slapped his ear protection tight against his ears and opened his mouth.

The corridor rocked, and Mandla cursed. Every meter they lost dragged them closer to the torpedo tubes, where a poorly placed grenade would doom both sides and take the ship down with them.

Mandla looked back at his men to see Lesago throw up and double over, the side of his face bloodied.

"Doc, get to Lesego!" Mandla bellowed, but his respirator muffled his words, which were already covered with gunfire.

Through the smoke, Vague figures stumbled on the enemy's side of the corridor. Two of them doubled over, hacking and wheezing, while another sprinted away, wailing as he choked for air.

Mandla aimed at the fleeing enemy but lowered his rifle, his heart racing. How many times had he murdered fleeing men? His hands shook. He protected Joberg against brutal enemies like the corsairs following Mr. Vermeulan's vision. But he couldn't be that man again.

When one had helpless enemies, it was usually due to their superior tactics, but watching the ruthless efficiency of the enemy's suffocation made Mandla sick.

A rifle fired behind him, and the running corsair dropped. Mandla turned to see Leila with her rifle still trained on the fallen enemy. "I'm out!" she barked, shaking Mandla from his lapse. He pulled out his final reserve magazine and threw it to her.

"Hold fire!" He shouted back to his men, waving his arm to get their attention. A tear from stinging smoke ran down his cheek.

His men ceased their suppression.

"Throw down your weapons!" He shouted at the corsairs. "We have oxygen. Surrender, and it's yours."

A man fired the round, whizzing past Mandla's ear. He cursed and dove for cover. Being heard during a gunfight was difficult. Mandla took a deep breath and pulled his respirator up.

They couldn't hear him from behind his cover, so he stood. "We have oxygen for you, fools! Put your weapons down!" He roared unrestricted by the muzzle of an oxygen mask. He caught a whiff of the agents in the air and gagged, pulling the mask back down.

The one still shooting aimed, and Mandla realized that the man had a respirator as well. Mandla ducked but realized he was too late as the enemy squeezed the trigger.

Two of the corsair's comrades tackled the shooter, dragging him down and throwing his shot off as they fumbled for his mask like Paranas tearing at a scrap of carrion.

Leila shrieked behind him, and Mandla spun. The round intended for him had pierced her thigh.

"I surrender," An enemy choked, staggering into the opening.

Another threw his Vektor R5 down and pushed past him.

"Francois, take the prisoners and get them air."

Mandla frowned as Stefanus and Leila's final subordinate rushed to her aid. He silently rebuked himself for feeling the same urge. Mandla had no stipulation to fight besides women—hell, Lieala was a great soldier—but this triggered a protective instinct in the men that could be a liability.

"Stefanus," He snapped at the salesman. "Help secure the prisoner. Andries, help the wounded.

Mandla forced himself to turn his back to the injured, training his weapon on the surrendering corsairs. Francois handed each of them respirators, the straps and hose removed with the mask screwed directly into the canister. This forced the prisoners to use both hands to hold them directly to their faces—a quick alternative to physically restraining them.

Mandla counted five prisoners, with three fallen.

"Jobergians, hold the oxygen generator. Francois, bring your other two; we're going up the ladder. Bring more respirators." Mandla rubbed his stinging eyes. "We'll send enemies down here if they surrender for oxygen."

Francois called Lungile and Mavinus his two voluntary newcomers. Mavinus' arm sported a white bandage where he was missing a sleeve. That wound, plus Francois' confidence, had to be proof enough that they were trustworthy.

"Doc?" Mandla went back to Andries. "How is she?" Mandla asked.

Andries cut away Leila's suit leg just under a tourniquet. "Let's have a look," Andries said academically as he sheared the suit away, at times maneuvering around armored plates. He peeled the pants away, exposing Leila's brown leg, weeping blood.

Leila closed her eyes tightly and whimpered as Andreis poked the wound.

"Venous bleed, not arterial. She needs pressure, stitches, and rest," the doctor diagnosed. He looked up. "Sorry, she's out for the fight." He dug into his and produced forceps.

"And Lesego?" Mandla asked, a budding vicarious pain twisting at him as he looked at where Lesego sat, a bandage covering half his face.

"Barotrauma and my guy took shrapnel to the face," Andries said. "He'll probably live, but there's no way he's getting laid ever again."

Andries forced Leila's wound open with his fingers and dipped his forceps.

Leila shrieked, her feminine voice alien to most battlefields.

"Andries!" Mandla barked, stopping the doc. "Pain meds."

Andries frowned, disappointed. "Pussy," He muttered as he produced his pills.

Mandla regaurded the medic agast. He had never realized how sadistic the man was. Mandla felt his medication's effects wearing off, and the stitch in his side reminded him of his gunshot wound wound.

"Contact front!" Francois barked.

"Don't shoot!" someone called from the later hatch.

"Wang?"

Wang coughed, "We need air," He gasped.

"Come down, show us your hands," Francoice ordered.

Wang, the Sinasian, along with Rudolph and Imani, staggered down the ladder. These three had already covered for Mandla, so he wasn't inclined to suspect treachery. Still, deception worked strongest when your guard was down.

"Get them O2," Mandla ordered, but he watched the newcomers as they surrendered their weapons.

Mandla's scars under his left sleeve itched as he watched Wang. "What's the situation up top?" He asked.

Wang held a tank to his face. "No one can breathe," He said, the mask muting his words. "Lesego shut off the ventilation, but almost everyone has abandoned the second level. What little air is left is cleanest on the main deck."

"Not for long," Manlda said as smoke billowed up the trap door like a smokestack.

"Lekota's trying to seal as many hatches as he can," Wang agreed. "But he over road most of them getting to the control room in the first place."

"How many respirators do they have?" Francois asked.

"Maybe five between thirty people." Wang pressed his mask tighter to his face, his eyes puffy and red from the smoke. "Everyone’s panicking."

"Hence why you're here," Francois said, a slight distaste coming through the words. "You think we're going to win."

"You'd better be worried if Lekota agrees with me," Wang said.

The sub-wide com crackled to life.

'Commodore Zwane,' Lekota's voice echoed through the sub. 'You've pulled a desperate move.'

Lekota coughed and panted. That surprised Mandla; he had assumed if the enemy had five respirators, Lekota would be wearing one of them. Maybe the zealous corsair cared for his men.

'Initially, I found your gruesome tactics dishonorable, but the tables had turned, and you were true to your mission.' Lekota released the push to talk, probably to catch his breath.

Half of the people in the corridor stared at the speakers, and the other half watched Mandla.

A brief puff of static preluded Lekota's voice. 'I'm trying hard to hate you, but I’d do the same thing in your shoes. In your desperation, you —' Lekota coughed and gasped. 'In your desperation, you resorted to extreme measures.'

Francois shook his head. "I don't like this. Lekota is a fanatic."

'I acknowledge that you have won, Commodore Zwane. I applaud you. But you understand you've put me in a desperate situation as the air thins around me. And as you know, desperate situations warrant extreme measures. You win, but I can't allow you to take this ship."

The sub shuddered, and Mandla steadied himself with a hand to the wall.

"What's he doing?" Wang demanded.

Mandla's ears popped, and he felt lightheaded despite his pure oxygen source. "We're ascending," he gasped. "Fast."

"No," Wang shook his head in denial. "He wouldn't."

"He would!" Francoise cried, his eyes widening in terror.

"If we surface, we’ll die!" Wang cried.

Mandla threw himself at the ladder and started off. Wang could have lied. Lekota could have a fireteam at the top, and Manlda could be charging to his death, but if Lekota told the truth, Mandla couldn't afford caution.

He climbed to the second deck, passing two men lying unconscious in the thin air. Francois hit the deck right behind him. Mandla charged an easy target for a tripwire or waiting enemy.

"Right!" Francois called from behind, and Mandla took the turn.

Three men coughed into wet rags. "Oxygen in the torpedo room!" Mandla cried as he passed. "Go!" He needed these men alive. He staggered, dizzy from the rapid pressure change. Every living human existed by one law—you never go to the surface. The bio-melting viviclast would spell a death far worse than suffocation.

Mandla charged through the crew's quarters, and personal effects rolled across the floor. A pale-faced man spun with a rifle. He watched Mandla with wide eyes but didn't move to stop him. Mandla didn't blame him. He would have struggled to follow a leader who just signed his death warrant.

"Get to the torpedo tubes!" Francois called to the straggler, and the pair climbed another ladder to the third deck. Mandla sprinted into familiar territory. He passed the brig, past the bodies of his men that Lekota had executed. His head spun, and his stomach lurched.

Mandla passed a huddle of five men, crouched around a single oxygen tank, taking turns taking hits.

Something ruptured in the distance, and an echoed hiss rang down the corridor. Mandla stumbled into the wardroom, and the submarine lurched as it decelerated. Mandla fell, his increasing vertigo pressing his mind. Francois stumbled in after him and stared at Mandla wide-eyed.

Mandla had never been this high in altitude. He picked himself up, trembling, and said the words all sailors feared. "We've surfaced."