Thulani studied the encryption logs in the closet-like computer lab. A budding headache from the screen's glow invaded his mind.

  He unplugged the physical decryption key, automatically locking the software. Thulani nodded, growing confident in the process. He plugged the key back in and input the password JJ had him memorize back in his smuggler's bay. The files opened, revealing research, engineering specs, notes, and version history dating back five decades.

  "You going to keep opening and closing that all day?" Johan demanded. Sitting in the tight corner of the already overcrowded mini lab, Johan tipped his chair back, fingers interlaced behind his head.

  "We're going to meet with a data broker on Pitchmarrow and trade Joberg geothermal tech for weapons and nuclear power specs," Thulani said. "I'm an unlicensed systems tech who has never left my home colony, and everyone expects me to be the subject matter expert to oversee a seamless transaction."

  Thulani pulled the key, locking the screen. "I have one job, so yeah, I'm going to practice so I don't fumble like an idiot when my turn comes up."

  Johan sighed loudly.

  "Are you bored?" Thulani asked.

  "Things were more interesting in my cell," Johan grumbled.

  Thulani pushed his seat back and turned toward Johan. "Maybe you shouldn't have alienated yourself from Mandla the first chance you got. I'm sure they could use an able-bodied mechanic."

  "He's not my boss," Johan growled.

  Thulani cocked a curious eyebrow. "That's not what I said. Is that what you heard? Offering a helping hand does not necessarily mean putting someone over you."

  Johan snorted. "I'm not going to play navy for some gangster who thinks he's in charge of me."

  Thulani rubbed his eyes, trying to drive the ache away. "Johan, I’m glad you came, but if you're just going to sit around complaining—"

  Johan furrowed his brow. "If you don't want me—"

  "That's not what I mean!" Thulani exclaimed. "Of course, I'm glad you agreed to come, and I feel much better knowing you have my back. I just don't know what you expected."

  Johan glanced down thoughtfully. "Thulani, you saved my life, and I don't like being in debt, so yeah, I'll keep you safe through Pitchmarrow." Johan considered his next words. "After that, I'm not coming back with you. Joberg doesn't hold anything for me anymore. I don't want to be an isolationist. If there are other colonies out there, I want to find a better one."

  "You're—leaving?" Why did that feel so personal? That’s exactly what Thulani was doing, but he had hoped Johan would come back and help him collect the girls.

  Johan nodded. "I'm not some freedom fighter or gangster. I just want to be independent."

  "I, uh, I think I understand," Thulani affirmed, and Johan nodded to himself, content with his decision.

  "I'm going to get grub," Thulani said, checking the monitor's clock. "You hungry?"

  "Yeah," Johan affirmed.

  Walking through the tight corridors, Thulani smiled.

  "Is something funny? Johan asked as they climbed a ladder to the second deck.

  "I mean, we're on a war sub, Johan. I never thought I'd be somewhere like this my entire life." Thulani noted bullet scars gouged in the walls and the faint smell of cleaning solutions masking smoke. "It's exciting. It helps take my mind off what we're leaving behind."

  "A prison cell?" Johan asked. "I’m not exactly leaving a family behind like you."

  Thulani nodded, eager to return so they could start over.

  "Don't romanticize our situation, Thulani," Johan cautioned as he rubbed a gouge in the wall and looked at his fingers. "There was a nasty fight before we got here, and it's likely to happen again in a sub full of ‘former’ enemies. Always keep your guard up."

  They passed a pair of sailors, though Thulani couldn't tell if they were Coral Corsairs or Vermeulan's steelworkers.

  Thulani entered the grub hall to find two sailors with hairnets sitting behind a cafeteria counter and five others huddled around one of many circular tables. Thulani grabbed a heavy plastic bowl and approached the serving station.

  The sailor on chow duty scooped him a serving of sea rice porridge with steamed sea snail.

  "How about some more protein," Johan asked, frowning at his plate.

  "Not like we're going to run out anytime soon. Everyone’s dead." The man behind the counter shrugged and scooped him another helping of sea snail.

  "Good man," Johan nodded, and they chose the furthest table from the other diners.

  "Those guys look suspicious?" Johan asked, motioning towards the table with five sailors.

  Thulani tried a spoonful and was pleasantly surprised. While not as good as Olivia's cooking, the porage sure beat prison grub. And the snail, though tough, was well seasoned. Thulani discretely glanced at the grub halls' other occupants.

  Thulani didn't recognize them, suggesting they were not Jobergian. They leaned in close and discussed something in hushed tones. Occasionally, one glanced Thulani's way as if checking to ensure they didn't eavesdrop.

  "Corsairs," Thulani decided. "Why are they being so secretive?"

  He hesitated when he saw one of them, who looked unlike anyone he had ever seen before. The strange man had light olive skin and thick, straight, dark hair. His lean face and almond eyes didn't betray any ethnicity Thulani recognized.

  "Woah, have you ever seen anyone like that before?" Thulani asked, forcing himself to look back down at his food.

  Johan slurped his porage loudly. "Weird. Let's go ask them what they're talking about. He grinned and stood.

  "No, wait!" Thulani gasped, scrambling to his feet in preparation to put out whatever fire Johan started.

  One of the Coral Corsairs tapped another on the shoulder to shut him up as he noticed the Jobergians approach.

  "Why are you being so sneaky?" Johan asked. "Planning an uprising against your new masters?"

  A man stiffened, and another's eyes widened.

  Thulani's mouth went dry as he realized Johan may have been right.

  "I'm hoping you do because I haven't killed any of you scumbags in a minute."

  "We've recently lost many comrades," The olive-skinned one said. "If you must know, we were planning how to divide their belongings."

  "Forgive, Johan," Thulani said quickly. "He gets anxious when he's bored. Are any of you mechanics? Johan is a mechanic and might need cross-training for this ship."

  Johan glared at Thulani.

  "Maybe Thando can show you our mechanical maintenance," the foreigner said; his accent didn't match any dialect Thulani knew. "You're the new systems tech we've been waiting for?"

  "That's right," Thulani said, trying to pull Johan away from the gathering. "Sorry to disturb your lunch."

  "What tribe are you supposed to be?" Johan asked the man, who raised an amused eyebrow.

  "You're not Afrikaner or Zulu. You don't look Xhosa or Tswana."

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  "Is this your first time leaving your colony?" The man asked, smiling in amusement.

  "Yeah," Thulani said, trying again to pull Johan away by the shoulder. "First time."

  The man nodded. "My name is Wang Jie; I don't suppose you have anyone from Sinasia in Joberg."

  "No," Johan said.

  Wang continued. "Generations ago, my ancestors came from a land city called Beijing. Let me give you some advice: when we get to Pitchmarrow, you'll probably see races, ethnicities, and cultures you've never heard of. Listen first, and don't make assumptions. Ignorant questions can land you in a bad place."

  Thulani nodded, finally managing to pull Johan back a step. "Sound advice, thank you."

  Johan pulled away from Thulani with a scowl.

  "Please," Thulani begged. "Let's go. You're being difficult."

  Johan glared. "I'm going to see if this boat has a gym."

  The comms officer's voice filled the grub hall through wall-mounted speakers. "Set condition three."

  Wang and his cohorts grumbled and began gathering their dishes.

  Thulani glanced at the raiders, puzzled. "What does that mean?"

  Wang frowned. "With the crew as small as it is, that basically means all hands to battle stations."

  ********

  Mandla rushed into the control room, buttoning his shirt as he entered. He blinked rapidly, trying to drive the fog of sleep from his mind.

  Botha glanced up from the comms panel, a cord from his headset dangling.

  Mavinus, one of Francois' most trusted men, sat at the helm, his hands firm on the fly-by-wire control wheel. He nudged it left, and Manlda felt a shift in his balance as their course changed.

  "What's going on?" Mandla asked, hurrying to the command seat behind the helm. Francois followed close behind, settling behind the weapons panel.

  "We've got definite contact on passive sonar, sixty klicks out," Botha said. "They're not actively running a UIS, so there's no telling who it is; we've adjusted course to steer clear."

  Mandla leaned over his Sonar display, where a massive red proximity dot lingered at the screen's edge. He wasn't fully trained in reading navel radar, but compared to the plip representing the Vortex Rider at the center, the newcomer was twice at least as big.

  "Set condition two," Mandla ordered, and Botha conveyed the order through the subs comms. Across all three decks, if sailors weren't at their battle stations already, they would probably be running to them now.

  "You think it's the Coral Corsairs?" Mandla asked. "It could be the patrol that pinged us as we left Joberg."

  Francois shook his head from the weapons panel. "Unlikely. Our doctrine is to always transmit our signature unless conducting a stealth op. This ship doesn't have a stealth posture—"

  Botha looked up abruptly. "Captain, It’s not one ship. I'm now reading multiple vessels, at least eight. They just pinged us with active Sonar."

  On Mandla's display, the large dot dissolved into smaller clusters. "They know we're here, ping them back," Mandla said, tugging his collar away from his neck.

  A series of chirps and clicks reverberated through the hull, and Mandla pulled up his display.

  "If not Corsair, who are the biggest threats in these waters?" Mandla asked as he waited for the sonar sound to echo back.

  "The Lagos Tide infest the entire African Strip," Francois said. "They usually fly a black flag signature, but it's not beneath them to pose as nomads. The Highway Keepers are dangerous and territorial, but this isn't one of their known routes. Because of their silence, it's probably the Akara Warboats or The Meratine Nembe if they are pirates."

  A figure stepped into the Control Room's hatchway, and Mandla glared at the stocky figure in irritation.

  "This isn't the gym," Johan muttered offhandedly, peering in at the officers. "I heard you have a gym."

  "This is the control room, and we're dealing with a situation," Mandla said.

  Johan cocked a curious eyebrow and invited himself in.

  "The command deck is for officers only," Mandla growled.

  Regardless, Johan casually leaned against the hull, arms folded over his chest. If Mandla had a proper crew, he’d have the brute thrown out for insubordination.

  The active sonar ping returned on his display, rendering a ghostly three-dimensional outline of a cluster of submarines. Mandla exhaled a quiet sigh of relief—None of the vessels bore the hulking profile of war subs or sleek stealth corvettes. Instead, this ragtag fleet consisted of oddly misshapen vessels, their sluggish movement betraying the drag of salvage lashed to their hulls. At the center, their flagship couldn't be larger than a frigate. At least two dozen single-man pods hovered around the small flotilla like plankton caught in a current.

  "Incoming VLF message," Botha said, then he frowned in annoyance. It's Nijan Morse. I can barely understand this garbage." The comms officer frowned and pushed his headset tighter, concentrating.

  "How are they communicating with us?" Johan asked. "We're obviously not sharing a hardline."

  "Shh," Botha hissed. "Okay, I think they want to know who we are." The comms officer looked to Mandla expectantly.

  "Does our Unique Identifier Signature still read as a Corral Corsair destroyer?" Mandla asked.

  "Aye, sir."

  "Tell them our signature is dysfunctional, and we're a private business vessel."

  "I'll send it in basic morse," Botha responded, typing his message into his terminal.

  Mandla waited expectantly.

  "If they are pirates, what are our chances of taking them?" Johan asked.

  Mandla glared at the uninvited guest. "I'm sorry, passenger, but that information is privileged only to crew members."

  Johan grinned defiantly at Mandla's frustration.

  "They're saying they're sending a messenger," Botha said.

  "Like hell," Mandla said, glancing at his passive radar as a lone dot detached from the swarm and started their way. "Stop where we are and deploy the cav turrets; blow that contact away if it gets within five klicks."

  "Aye, sir," Francois said, manipulating the controls. A mechanical whirring reverberated through the hull and the sub as the cave turrets locked into place.

  "Their flagship has identified them as Hsekiri Wave Hunters," Botha said

  Francoise's shoulders slumped in relief.

  "Who are they?" Johan asked.

  "Scavengers," Francois answered. "Not usually dangerous unless provoked."

  "Either way, flush that messenger if he doesn't slow down," Mandla ordered. "Let him get in echo comm range."

  Botha input a warning into his console, and the nearing blip slowed.

  "The rec room is between the male and female crew quarters on the second deck," Mandla directed at Johan.

  At last, Johan exited with a rebellious smirk.

  Mandla clenched his jaw. He'd need to find a way to deal with that one later. Francoise did another active sonar ping targeting the messenger, which rendered a small sub that couldn't accommodate more than three crew members. The messenger stopped five kilometers out.

  "Sir, their messenger is sending an echo comm."

  "Let's hear it."

  Botha patched the through-hull acoustics to the control room's speakers.

  "Chalie, Wetin' dey happen now?" A muffled voice yelled over the sound of background music.

  "Respond," Mandla ordered, not wanting to deal with the salvager, and Botha sighed dejectedly.

  "Hsekiri Vessel, this is the Vortex Rider. Do you copy?"

  "I dey hear you well well!" The salvage pilot's voice echoed, slurring the words. "Wetin' you go?"

  Botha looked to Mandla, who reluctantly nodded.

  "Hsekiri vessel, our destination is Pitchmarrow, over."

  The man on the other side hissed playfully. "Abeg, no go there. Make we go Miji Wa Lulua together. Saftey dey for group, abi?"

  Botha frowned, trying his best to differ the dialect. "I think they want us to join their group," he explained to Mandla. Botha leaned over his microphone. "We are not going to Miji Wa Lulua; we're going to Pitchmarrow, over."

  "Pitchmarrow na bad place. Miji wa Lulua fine no be small. Come with us, na."

  "Negative," Botha said.

  "Na your way, no wahala," The pilot responded. "You don spot any salvage for road?"

  "The only salvage we've seen is likely being claimed by the Coral Corsairs right now," Botha said.

  "Ask them if they're privy to any hazards on the path to Pitchmarrow," Mandla instructed.

  Botha nodded and leaned over his microphone. "Are there any new dangers we should be aware of in these waters, any pirates?"

  "Dem talk say, leviathan dey these waters before, but na long time ago, and me I never see am."

  "A leviathan?" Mandla asked.

  "Very unlikely at this depth," Francois assured him.

  "We dey go Miji," The pilot said. "If your mind change, catch us for road. E’ go better if we waka together, e’ safer like that."

  "Safe sailing," Botha said, and the blip ticked away from the Vortex Rider.

  Mandla slumped back in his chair, exhaling. "Set condition three. We'll reengage if they circle back or take any aggressive actions."

  "Aye, sir," the officers on the deck replied.

  If Nijan salvagers were the only threat Mandla had to worry about on this trip, he'd sleep better at night.

  ********

  Wang strode down the corridor, his brow knit with determination. Despite his confidence, his heart raced. He just needed to stick to the plan. Rudolph followed closely behind, and Sandile walked toward him, ducking into the currently empty gallery.

  Wang followed, and Rudolph took watch at the hatchway. A collection of four other sailors waited.

  "We move tonight," Wang muttered in a low tone.

  "Do we have enough men?" Sandile asked.

  "Yes," Wang assured him. "Almost everyone has recovered from hypoxia enough to fight."

  "What about the others?" Sandile asked. "No one has snitched, have they?"

  "I haven't propositioned anyone I didn't know we could rely on," Wang said. "That's why we need to move soon. No one knows our timetable, and no one knows everyone who's involved."

  "No one but you," Sandile said, narrowing his eyes.

  "I'm risking the most here!" Wang hissed. "As the ringleader, Mandla will definitely flush me if he finds out. He needs the rest of you to keep the ship operational." Wang narrowed his eyes at Sandile. "Not planning on backing out, are you? You going to run to your new master?"

  Sandile shook his head. "I'm with you, Wang," he affirmed. "This is our ship. Let's take it back."