Thulani explored his new dwelling with a mix of awe and unease. While the number of chambers and corridors in the Vortex Rider proved elaborate, each compartment and hall was built to minimize space. At times, Thulani felt like a cell squeezing through steel arteries, keeping the steel beast alive. The walls vibrated with energy, the hum of systems in motion, all powered by the nuclear reactor that acted as its heart. Scars marked the walls in a ghastly echo of a battle not long ago, and toxic smells in the lower deck encouraged Thulani not to spend time there.

  Entering the docking bay overlook, Thulani found two people sitting on plastic boxes chatting while scrubbing rifle components. The rest of the weapons were broken out on a makeshift table. Perfect. He might find a shooting instructor here after discovering the armory was locked.

  The thick scab on Thulani's lip from his interrogation throbbed. His mind flashed to memories of raiders aiming weapons from this same arsenal at him. He gripped the rail momentarily before descending the stairs into the docking bay.

  As Thulani approached the duo, he recognized one of Mandla's lieutenants—A female soldier wearing athletic shorts to accommodate a medical dressing around her thigh.

  The other was a man whose face was almost entirely covered in thick bandages. Thulani didn't recognize him, even vaguely as he did with the rest of Mandla's men—of course, the half-complete mummy costume didn't help.

  Thulani smiled and stepped forward. "Hi, I'm Thulani. You guys look busy. Do you need a hand?"

  The man with a bandaged face frowned, his lips half obscured by the dressing. "Mandla has ordered strict firearm control. Only authorized personnel can handle weapons."

  Of course, Mandla wouldn't let the beaten Raiders handle the weapons. Something about that made Thulani feel better about their mixed ranks.

  "That's because most of the crew was trying to kill us, Lesego." The woman cut in. "He's a civilian from Joberg; he's not going to attack us. Besides, it's not like we're handing him a loaded gun." The woman proffered a tubular piece of metal with boxy elements on one end. "Hope you don't mind getting your hands dirty, Thulani. I'm Leila."

  Thulani took the piece, found a bag of wet wipes, and set to cleaning the caked carbon from the metal.

  "What's this piece called?" Thulani asked. "Is it the barrel?"

  "Don't know your guns?" Lesego asked.

  "I'm a maintenance pod tech. Or I was. Now I guess I'm a systems tech."

  "That's the gas tube," Leila said as she quickly wiped down a piece and snapped it into place on the back of the rifle.

  "Systems?" Lesago asked. "Several of the subs systems have been bogged down for weeks; they could probably use an update."

  "I can't update them in transit unless I can actually get newer software updates." Thulani used his fingernail to scratch off some crusted black buildup. "I inspected your hardware, backed up some data, and archived some other unused files. Until we actually find better software, there isn't much I can do."

  "Hey, Thulani," Leila said, running a brush down a barrel. Her furrowed brow betrayed a more serious inner thought.

  "Yes?"

  "You need to get your friend under control. Other sailors watch him disregard Mandla and think they can do the same. The power dynamic is precarious as it is. We can't afford such insubordination.

  "I know," Thulani agreed. "Johan is a complicated man."

  Thulani thought back to Johan's mother and recalled what Johan had said about his father while in prison. "Johan represents a problematic legacy. I imagine he's been conditioned to defy authority. He has a fearsome sense of independence."

  "So why did you bring him?" Leila asked.

  Thulani lowered his hands, his fingertips already stained with carbon. "Because despite his shortcomings, Johan is the first person you want in your corner and the last one you want opposing you."

  "So it doesn't help that he's contending with Mandla," Lesego said.

  "Don't worry. He plans to leave when we get to Pitchmarrow." Thulani handed the gas tube to Lesego. "Hey, this might be a stupid question, but do you have a shooting range in this sub?"

  "Yes and no," Lesego said. "We don't have a hot-fire range, but this bay doubles as a training gallery.”

  “You want to learn to shoot?" Leila asked.

  "Yes, please," Thulani said, instinctually rubbing the scab on his lip. "I've been exposed to more violence in the last two weeks than I realized possible. Ordinarily, I'd leave the fighting to trained people like you, yet I still find myself in the middle of this war."

  Lesego stood, popping his ear with a pained yawn and a grimace. Crossing the bay, he opened a locker and returned with a box of hardware.

  "What's that?" Leila asked as Lesego switched elements of his pistol with red plastic ones.

  "Pop caps," Lesego explained as he loaded scarlet blanks into his weapon. He accessed the bay control panel, and several targets popped from the floor on the far end.

  "What are pop caps?" Thulani asked.

  "One part blank, one part laser targeting technology. These rounds will cycle your slide, and the computer will evaluate your aim," Lesego explained. "The bang isn't as loud as the real thing, though."

  An excited smile tugged at Thulani's lips. Though he was fond of old action films, his interest in mastering the weapon stemmed from something far beyond recreational interest. The helplessness he had felt during the raiders' attack and, more recently, in Thabo's interrogation room still haunted him. His desire to protect his family also felt hollow, given he didn't have the practical training to back it up.

  "First things first. This is a magazine," Lesego held up the bullets, then locked back the slide, exposing a tube, "and this is the chamber. Rounds can be in either the magazine or in the chamber. Just because you have ammunition in the magazine doesn't mean there's a round in the chamber. If you remove the magazine while there is a bullet in the chamber, you've still got a loaded weapon."

  Lesego demonstrated with practiced ease and then guided Thulani through cycling rounds, unloading, and clearing the weapon.

  Thulani nodded, a satisfied smile spreading across his face as he performed Lesego's commands without assistance, even if it took him a moment to think about it.

  "Now let's talk about stance," Lesego said. "You want to square off with both feet pointed at your target."

  Leila snorted. "Are you trying to get killed? Face them from the side and minimize your profile."

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Lesego glared at Leila. "I've been a marine for seven years. I think I know how to shoot." He turned back to Thulani. "You square off for stability, and your armor is thickest in the front."

  "Armor will slow you down," Leila disagreed. "Mobility is most important."

  "And how did your mobility turn out for your leg?"

  "At least I didn't try to kiss a grenade."

  Lesego scoffed in playful indignation. "How long ago did you start training for combat, Jobergian?"

  "Long enough to kick your ass, shortie."

  "Wait." Thulani blinked rapidly. "Lesego, you're a Coral Corsair?" Something internal failed to reconcile this helpful soldier with the enemy. "I thought you guys weren't allowed to have weapons."

  "Those of us who helped Mandla early on have been deemed trustworthy."

  "Why would you help Mandla?" Thulani asked, his voice tinged with suspicion. "Aren't we your enemies?"

  Lesego sighed. "I was in poor standing with my people when Mandla attacked—recently demoted, actually."

  "Why?" Thulani asked. "—If it's not too personal."

  Lesego sighed. "Lack of motivation. I signed a six-year contract with the Corral Corsairs. Near the end of my term, I learned that my mother was terminally ill in Port Buntu. Captain Molefe denied my leave requests to help her."

  "I'm sorry," Thulani said.

  Lesego shrugged. When my contract expired, a deceptive clause practically forced me to sign on for another six years. On top of that, most of the crew gaslit me into thinking I was being selfish—well, pretty much everyone but Francois."

  "Francois is in charge of the original crew now, right?" Thulani asked.

  "Yes," Lesego affirmed. "My mother passed away a few months into my new contract, so no, I wasn't exactly a motivated soldier. I showed up late to every formation and slept on every watch duty. Eventually, the Captain decided I wasn’t worth my rank. When Mandla took the control room, Francois wanted to switch sides—he's a bit of an idealist, you see—and I agreed. Things got scary for a moment when Lekota regained control. He would have flushed me for sure."

  Thulani regarded Lesego curiously for a moment. His problems with the corsairs seemed more personal than ideological. If Lesego's mother hadn't died when she did, and if raider assignments had been arranged differently, what were the odds Thulani would have encountered him during the raid?

  "Hey, Frankenstein's Monster, are we going to train Thulani or what?"

  Lesego popped his ear with another careful yawn. "Yeah, Let's get some reps in."

  ********

  Wang strode down a tight corridor, Imani behind him and Sandile behind her. A light fluctuated in a power surge, and three others joined their line as they rounded the corner.

  Concealed behind his waistband and belt, Wang's 1911 pistol pushed into his hip. The armory guard shift change would happen any minute now; they had to act fast. Wang stopped peeking around the corner at the armory hatch, but a man in a neckbrace walked toward him, transiting through the hall by chance.

  It was Johan, the tall, white newcomer with a bad attitude. His spiky blond hair pointed in every conceivable direction, and his eyes locked onto Wang's face.

  "Hey," Johan strode towards Wang. He rounded the corner, his eyes narrowing as he took in the line of six Corsairs. "What are you doing?"

  Wang cursed inwardly. The shift guard shift change was imminent—he didn't have time to deal with this wildcard. Sandile tensed as if coiling to strike, and Johan's head twitched as he noticed the micromovement.

  Johan grinned, practically baring his teeth. "Why are you being suspicious?"

  Wang's eyes flickered to his companions—none had guns, but Wang didn't doubt each one concealed a knife or at least a pipe. A skirmish so close to the armory would bring the entire crew down on them.

  "Shhh," Wang hissed, thinking fast. "Get over here."

  Johan frowned but complied, stepping out of the armory hall. "What are you idiots up to now?"

  "Listen," Wang said in a low whisper. "Captain Molefe kept a stash of whisky in the gallery. We were going to take a swig. It's not technically against the rules because Mandela doesn't know about it. Don't snitch, and you can have a shot."

  Johan grinned. "I never touched the stuff. Guess it's a genetic weakness."

  "Listen, don't tell Mandla or Francois, alright?" Wang begged, wishing the brute would move.

  Johan snorted. "I don't care if you poison yourselves." He pushed past them, making no effort to accommodate them in the tight quarters.

  In the armory hallway, voices spoke as the next shift arrived at the hatch. Imani twitched behind him, itching to move, but Wang held her back until Johan stepped out of view.

  Wang drew his pistol, signaled, and they swooped into the corridor. They got halfway down the hall before the Jobergian guards in the hallway noticed them.

  Rudolph led Wang’s second team down the other side of the hall, pistol drawn, with two knife-wielding men at his side.

  One of the guards opened his mouth to call out.

  "Scream, and you're dead!" Wang hissed.

  The man shouted anyway and lunged for the armory hatch, grasping to seal it.

  Wang charged, slamming into the man, and driving both of them both into the armory. Behind him, Rudolph shoved the other guard into the cramped space.

  As the mutineers poured into the armory, Mbeki started from behind the weapon cage, rising from his chair.

  Wang leveled his pistol at Mbeki while Sandile ripped the rifle from one of the guard's hands.

  "Don't kill them!" Rudolph barked. "We need leverage."

  "Mbeki, stay away from the alarm," Wang warned, his weapon steady on the man behind his enclosure.

  Sandile pulled the charging handle back on his weapon, checking to see if it had a round chambered, and froze as he glimpsed red plastic. "Pop caps?" The mutineer said, his brown face flushing pale. He looked up at Wang, his eyes bulging. "This is a setup!"

  Sorry," Wang shrugged and trained his pistol—the only one loaded with real ammunition—on Sandile. "Just following orders."

  A mutineer grunted and collapsed in the hatchway, Johan, his eyes alight with rage.

  "I knew it," the hulking brute growled as he reached up and popped the plastic clasps off on his neck brace. He dropped the sleeve, rolling his shoulders with a sharp crack. "Damn pirate treachery."

  "Johan, this isn't what it looks li—" Wang began, but Johan moved too fast. Johan’s right cross connected. Wang’s vision flashed red, and his head snapped as blood gushed from both nostrils.

  Johan slammed him against the back wall, the pistol clattering from Wang's grasp and sliding across the floor.

  "Johan wait," Wang gasped, struggling against his iron grasp.

  Sandile dove for the weapon, but Imani beat him to it. Sandile stomped down on her hand with a sickening crunch, and she shrieked, snatching her hand away, two fingers twisting grotesquely.

  "Imani," Wang choked as Johan drove a knee into his gut, sending him to the floor.

  Sandile snatched the pistol and aimed it—

  A shot rang out from behind the weapons cage. Mbeki stood, rifle smoking.

  Sandile dropped to his knees, clutching his shoulder.

  Chaos erupted as more figures poured into the armory. Stefanus' men surged in and restrained the mutineers one by one.

  Three of them pried Johan off of Wang, whose vision swam with stars.

  "Enough!" Stefanus roared, stepping into the room. "Restrain the mutineers," He turned towards Wang, who was panting on the floor. "Wang, Imani, Rudolph, Good work."

  "No, this is their ringleader," Johan barked, pointing at Wang. Shrugging off the men who held him.

  "No," Stefanus said. "He was bait, idiot. To see who we could trust." He looked at Imani, who blinked tears as she cradled her broken hand. "Get Andres, we need a medic!

  Stefanus spun toward Johan, fire smoldering in his eyes. "Go to the crew quarters, Johan. Before you hurt more of my men."

  "I thought they were staging a coup," Johan snapped. "I was trying to stop them."

  "Maybe if you cooperated or communicated for once, we could have prevented this from spiraling out of control. Instead, you wander wherever you please like a parasitic man-child freeloading off his momma's hatch."

  Johan's jaw bulged, his nostrils flaring. "You're not my boss."

  "That makes you a stowaway," Stefanus countered, stepping forward with a smirk. "I commend the Joberg crew on this ship."

  Wang wiped blood from his nose and lips with a wince. "You almost blew our plan outside, too, genius."

  "Big talk for someone who's ass I just kicked."

  "Enough," Stefanus snapped. "You want to act like a child? You got it. Go to your room."

  From the safety of the weapons cage, Mbeki stifled a laugh, earning a murderous glare from Johan.

  "It's your quarters or the brig," Stefanus warned.

  Johan scoffed, though his face had gone beat red. Without another word, he stomped past Stefanus.