9 The Breached Hatch.

A low neon light cast a gentle light like an ethereal deep-sea jellyfish, illuminating the bar and its patrons. Quiet music maintained a calm ambiance for now, though on the weekend, the playlist tended to encourage patrons to dance. Thulani sipped his kelp beer, bitter with a hint of salt. The drink warmed him and peeled back the stress of his discoveries and experience.

"— I didn't even see them. I was working on the new filter line when the alarm went off loud as hell," Floyd continued, though Thulani only half listened. His partner sipped a shark whisky, an expensive, heavy, revolting drink strong enough to strip paint from a hull. Thulani always wondered how it was legal for human consumption.

"Maat, then the others dove for the kelp forest. Jake said he saw attack subs, and one almost hit my pod man. I think they were aiming for me!"

"Really?" Thulani asked dryly, the alcohol stripping away his veneer of interest. His hand tightened around the glass. Something about his friend's voice grated at his nerves.

"Kak, man, I dove and hid in the kelp forest. Going so far, I pulled out my coms line. I waited until I was almost out of air to return, and the doc was flooded. I had to use a commercial port. I got a real skrik, worst of my life."

"You were scared?" Thulani demanded, not quite drunk but emboldened. "You were safe in your pod away from all the violence. I watched them execute our co-workers; I held Thshepo as he bled out! I —"

Thulani dropped his voice, realizing another patron glanced his way. "I killed a man with my utility knife."

Floyd sobered despite the poison he was ingesting. "You killed a man, klaar?"

"And I flushed another," Thulani muttered, staring into his yellow-green beer. Light suds caked the perimeter of the glass. Inwardly, bubbles, foam, blood, and water from the decomp dock porthole swirled in his mind.

"I promised to save another man, but I left him to die." Thulani gritted his teeth, suppressing a tremor in his chest. "I killed him too. I killed three men."

Floyd waited for a moment of silence. "Thul, that's kaky, you okay?"

"You know, I would do it again," Thulani ignored the question. "In a second. If they wanted to murder my friend and shoot at me or my family, I would kill them all if I could. But I can't. I'm not like Johan."

"Johan," Floyd asked?

"Johan Meer."

Floyd scrunched his brow and shifted in his seat. "The Mech Tech? That Domkop?"

"Johan slaughtered them, Floyd," Thulani recalled the mechanic's manic grin. Thulani didn't know if he or the Coral Corsairs feared it more. "Johan had a chance to escape, and he kept fighting."

Thulani sipped his beer, then looked at Floyd. "The man may be an ass, but he's also a shark, who lives among shrimp."

"If you're right, you should stay away from him."

"He's in the ICU," Thulani said. "Medically induced coma. The doctors say he's going to make it."

"Sharks go mad once they've tasted blood," Floyd said.

"No, Johan was always mad." Thulani downed the rest of the beer, savoring the buzz.

"I hope the pirates don't come back," Floyd said before taking a shot of his shark whisky.

"They will," Thulani assured his friend. "They didn't collect their payment."

"What, they didn't get enough plunder or something?"

Thulani barked a laugh. "Payment. The city council paid them to call us."

Floyd's brow knitted in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Thulani swiveled on his stool to face Floyd. "I found one of the Raider's tablets. They had a roster, no — a hit list. The raiders murdered anyone on it who was marked low social value, and they gathered our I.D.s. I cross-referenced —"

"Thul," Floyd interrupted. "You're drunk. You sound ridiculous,"

"I've had one beer," Thulani protested.

"Why would the city council —"

"Because we are running out of air!" Thulani hissed.

Floyd rolled his eyes. "Ja-nee. Not this again."

"I have proof," Thulani snapped, more than a little annoyed that his best friend didn't believe him.

"Look, man," Floyd shifted on his stool to square off with Thulani. "We live under the ocean. Of course, there's not enough air."

"They are lying to us," Thulani flipped. "They couldn't manage resources, and their solution was to cut the fat!"

"Shh!" Floyd hissed, grabbing Thulani's neck and pulling it down. Thulani didn't realize he had been shouting, and several patrons stared.

"Is there a problem, gentlemen?" the bartender asked, leaning over the bar on hairy forearms.

"My friend needs some ice water," Floyd said, letting go of Thulani. "The raid was traumatic, and apparently, it's not mixing well with the alcohol.

The bartender studied them for a moment before deciding to leave them be.

Thulani composed himself, sitting tall on the stool. "I have the proof that I need to expose them," he said, his voice low.

"Thul, for your sake, I hope you don't. Even if you could prove it, who would listen to you? We're pod techs, man, not police officers, not managers, not news anchors. Our voices are too small. No one would hear you."

Thulani opened his mouth to protest, but Floyd continued.

"And let's say you're right, and let's say enough people do hear you. What then? Do you think Councilman Vermeulen or Councilman Mokoena will sit back and surrender their offices? Think, man. I'm not ready to fish you out of the deep because you had to be right. Think about Olivia. Think about your baby and your sister. Isn't it enough to be alive with them?"

Thulani glared at Floyd, each point impacting him like a hammer.

Floyd put a hand on Thulani's shoulder. "You're blessed, bro. You're probably the smartest man I know. You're studying to be a systems tech, and you're about to be a father. Life is good. Promise me you won't do anything to kak it up."

Thulani bit his tongue, and the bartender slid him a glass of ice water. Thulani waited for the barkeep to leave before shifting back toward Floyd. He recalled armed security escorting him out of the Oxygen Filtration Office while he screamed at the bystanders in the lobby. Thulani always wanted to be taken seriously, but he realized he hadn't done a great job of being respectable. Could he really be angry with people who treated him like a joke when he acted like one?

"Thul, tell me you won't do anything reckless."

Thulani sipped his water, chilled and pure. "I'm not going to do anything reckless —"

Floyd's shoulders slumped in relief.

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"— Until after the city emergency disaster after action review."

"Thul," Floyd pleaded.

"I want to see what they have to say. I want to know if the council will tell the truth and beg for forgiveness or if they'll look us in the eyes and give us their deepest sympathies."

"Thul —"

"I want to see if they dab water under their eyes. I want to know if my family lives in an incompetent sadist's fist or if there's more to this."

Why was Mandla fighting raiders? Mr. Vermeulen set up a resistance element, but he was on the council responsible for bringing the enemy to Joberg in the first place. Acting without all the answers would be unwise. Thulani needed to extend his voice if he wanted to be heard, and he needed everyone to listen if he wanted to protect his family.

Thulani slid off the high barstool, rage at the council burning, sustained by liquid confidence. "I need to go," He put a payment code into a hardline terminal at the bar.

"Where are you going?" Floyd demanded.

"To get more answers."

********

Thulani circled a residential tower on the third level. His search could have taken weeks, but the Corsair tablet detailed clear instructions and an address. Reading the numbers over the hatches, he stopped when he saw the entrance to Mosa Sello's apartment. Rather than a water-tight door, a gaping hole yawned before him. Scorch marks marred melted steel, which opened to the darkness within. The caveat to this victim's profile flashed in his mind.

Mosa Sello — high threat — priority liquidation.

Thulani touched the blasted doorway. Suddenly, Floyd's warning felt much more tangible. Most of the victims' profiles had them culled because of low productivity or contribution. Mosa had been targeted because she was a threat.

Thulani had seen a few of Mosa's videos. Recorded in a home studio, and spam dropped to his hardline mail. He never cared about them and dismissed them as junk, but the blasted doorway at her hatch branded them as genuine. He hoped the raiders didn't make it to Mosa as she held many of the answers he sought.

Still, what if? "Hello?" Thulani called into the darkness.

Silence laced the darkness.

"Hello, Mosa Sello?"

Something stirred in the domicile.

Something about the noise and darkness triggered an animal element in Thulani's brain, and he stepped back up against the rail.

Noise merged with movement, and a figure stepped into the light. It wasn't the heavy-set conspiracy theorist Thulani expected, but an old man with dark spots on his brown skin and grey hair.

"Oh," Thulani said. "I'm sorry. Is Mosa here?"

Pain flickered over the man's face, and his breath caught.

"Oh, no," Thulani said. "She was home when they attacked?"

The man nodded.

He didn't need to say more. Thulani understood. Mosa Sello, politically dissonant with Joberg's council, had been assassinated.

"Can I come in?" Thulani asked.

"Who are you?" The man croaked. "Were you her friend?"

"I — No. We've never met."

The man shifted. "So you're one of her followers?"

"Not really."

"So why the hell are you here?"

Thulani took a deep breath. He wasn't doing so well. "Well, sir," I think I know who's responsible for her death."

The man's suspicious dark eyes relaxed, almost relieved. "Come in."

Thulani stepped through the blasted doorway into an apartment identical to his; only the furniture had been tossed, and everything was ransacked. The man produced a flashlight and handed it to Thulani.

"Power hasn't worked since the attack," he grumbled. Maintenance can't get to it until next week." He led Thulani to the room that would have been Nandi's in his unit. "Doors at least a month out."

Thulani swept the beam in the bedroom and gasped. Tens of thousands of rand worth of servers, computer equipment, cameras, and monitors lay smashed and shattered across the floor. A dream of expensive equipment converted into a nightmare of destruction.

"I didn't care about my granddaughter's obsession. I was just happy she had such drive," the man continued. Then they came in while I was at work, forced their way in, and they—" His voice cut off, clipped with emotion.

Thulani knelt in the mess and sifted through the broken drives. Most systems techs would condemn the mess and start over, but Thulani wasn't like other systems techs. He was poor and, therefore, had become accustomed to salvaging.

"What's your name, sir?" Thulani stood and turned to the man, who seemed content to remain in the dark.

"Dineo Sello," The man said.

"Sir, if you allow me to use Mosa's equipment, I can salvage it and expose the ones who did this." The destruction around him was yet another stone tied to the council's feet, dragging them deeper into condemnation.

The man considered the stranger in his house. "And what's your name?"

"Thulani Mabaso."

The aged man proffered a hand. "It's yours."

*******

Mandla leaned back shirtless across a sheet metal desk. The aluminum's cold pinched, and he tensed as a needle punctured and threaded his skin together.

His other two fire teams occupied the control room, most having survived the fighting. They set about various tasks while their only field medic sutured Mandla's wounds.

"Relax," Andries chided, his elderly fingers working the thread skillfully.

"Don't you have any pen meds?" Mandla complained.

"Yeah, I've got something for you." The old paramedic fished through pouches on his Coral Corsair armor, and he produced a plastic prescription bottle.

Mandla took it and checked the label, which had been crossed out with a marker. Inked under were the words "For little bitches."

Manlda glared at Andries, who failed to suppress a grin. The medic didn't play the part of Corsair very well. White-skinned and over fifty years old, he was maybe an inch over five feet.

Andries tugged the thread deliberately before snipping the line, and Mandla hissed.

"Baby," Andries chuckled.

"What's the damage?" Mandla popped the cap on the bottle, tipped three pills back, and crunched them with his teeth. The bitter powder buzzed on his tongue.

"The round penetrated your armor but lost a lot of velocity — no significant organ damage, but severe bruising and six stitches. You can still fight, but stick to guns; you'll probably tear the stitches if you throw hands."

Mandla nodded and painfully lifted his shirt over his head. Already, the meds took the bite from the wound but made Mandla relax a little more than he should have, given their current circumstances.

"We got a breather, doc," one of Mandla'smen announced, and a fallen officer stirred with a pained moan.

Andries looked to Mandla, who nodded.

"Stabilize him," Mandla said. "We could use leverage and a potential interrogation.

Andries nodded and went to attend to the fallen enemy. Mandla crossed to the surveillance panel, where his two fire team leaders studied the enemy. Mandla's fire team had comprised his best fighters, now all dead, but the other team leaders, Jabulani and Leila, were his most reliable.

"Why aren't they grouping together?" Jabulani asked, making room for Mandla. He had a square face and eyes a lighter brown than his skin. His rigid posture seemed unnatural as he stooped over the split screen.

Mandla studied the other Corsairs through grainy footage. United, they outnumbered Mandla's crew four or five to one.

"Different crews," Leila realized. Both men looked at her. Her oval face, aquiline nose, and hooded eyes seemed out of place, peeking from beneath her armored helmet.

"You think they've divided Eel Fang and Vortex Rider?" Mandla asked.

"Think about it," Leila continued. "We've been striking from among their ranks; if they don't know each other, they're playing it safe."

Mandla scrutinized one of the Medbay feeds. A larger group of five and another pair watched each other from opposite sides, waiting for the other to enact treachery.

"Pity they don't fight each other," Jabulani grunted.

"They can't afford to," Leila explained. "They don't know how many of us there are, and they can't risk losing allies if we outnumber them."

Mandla nodded. Now that they held the control room, they had much more intel, but the fight was far from over.

"What's our situation?" Mandla asked.

"We have fourteen total, including two wounded, unfit to fight," Leila jumped in before Jabulani could speak. At times, she seemed too eager.

"And the enemy?"

"Hard to say," she said, leaning over the surveillance panel. "We don't have full coverage, and they keep moving. "I'd say fifty to sixty."

"Should we fight our way to the dock, abandon ship?" Jabulani asked.

"They'd shoot us down in seconds," Leila said. "Plus, I think we're out of pods."

"We don't have enough men to operate this sub, and we'll have fewer still if we somehow manage to take total control without all dying."

"Don't be deceived," Mandla asserted. "Yes, they're all armed and likely trained, but they probably sent most of their designated marines to the Eel Fang wreckage."

"Yeah, well, they're fish food now," Leila smirked.

"I'm sure not every engineer or cook is interested in an extended siege," Mandla concluded.

"Could we cut the O2?" Jabulani wondered, not eager to get into a fight.

"Not selectively," Mandla said, having already looked into that option. "They would have taken my team out earlier if they could. It's the whole sub or nothing."

"Then we use respirators," Jabulani suggested.

"All vital bays have personal respirators, so we'd be fighting on the same terms if we cut the air," Leila said.

"Oi, Captain!"

Captain? Mandla jumped after a delay when he realized Mbeki was talking to him. The wiry goblin of a man grinned at Mandla as he tabbed through the control panel. "I'm no system tech, but I think I can lock all the doors from here."

Mandla and his team leads looked at each other in surprise at Mbeki's potentially helpful contribution. They hurried to the panel, which displayed a map with all the hatches. The ones in the flooded corridor lit up, lit up red, automatically sealed.

"How does it work?" Mandla asked.

"Donno," Mbeki shrugged. The machinist ditched his helmet, exposing medium dreads. He now wore thick yellow goggles that made his eyes pop. He jabbed one of the control room doors with a bony finger.

The Jobergians whirled as a power hatch groaned and slammed shut to the left. A wheel cycled, locking the bolts.

"Kak, Mbeki!" Jabulani snapped. I hope you can get it open again."

Mbeki grinned and tapped the same door. The wheel cycled, and the door swung back open. Mandla nodded affirmingly, "Lock them all down. I don't want the enemy banding together. We need to isolate them and restrict their movement.

"Don't forget this sub is probably laced with smugglers hatches not accounted for on our maps."

Mbeki grinned and furiously sealed each door with a volley of jabs from his bony fingers. Good, this bought them precious time — the time he needed to figure out how to defeat or subjugate a force many times his size, isolated without reinforcements.

"What's our next move?" Jabulani asked.

Mandla looked at Andries, the paramedic who looked up from the wounded officer. "He'll live." Andries flashed a bloodied thumbs up.

"I think an interrogation is in order," Mandla said, then he turned to Leila. "I have a special job for you."