Daughter of the Deep(22)

My last glimpse of my ex-abductor is his blond head bobbing up and down in our wake, spluttering and yelling unkind things about Harding-Pencroft. I imagine he’ll be picked up by someone soon enough. He’s loud. Also, his pink-ducky floaties make him easily the most colourful thing off the San Alejandro coast.

‘Miss Huang,’ Hewett says, ‘report to the bridge. Maintain our course due west at maximum speed.’

Linzi stirs. ‘Sir, we deserve –’

‘You’ll get your explanations,’ Hewett promises. ‘But first things first. Double-check the camouflage projectors and pulse-dispersion unit. Have the Orcas sweep the ship for any tracking devices. We must get away from the Aronnax.’ He turns towards me. ‘As for you, Ana Dakkar, you’re coming with me. I think it’s about time you gave us a course heading.’





On the way, I grab Nelinha and drag her along.

I need a friend at my side, even if she has to coexist with Gem for a while. I’m still reeling from … well, everything. I didn’t like Caleb’s warnings. I don’t understand why Dr Hewett thinks I’m the one who should decide our course heading. Why does he keep singling me out like this? He’s the one with all the secrets. And I’m still not sure I trust Gemini Twain to have my back.

At the end of the corridor, Hewett opens the door to the captain’s cabin. I’ve never been inside before. The place is massive: a full-size bed against the port wall, windows overlooking the bow, a big conference table, and on the starboard side …

I gasp. ‘Socrates!’

The entire starboard side of the room is an open saltwater tank. The Plexiglas wall is maybe twelve feet long, five feet high, curved inwards at the top to prevent the water from sloshing out when the ship moves. The tank isn’t big enough for the dolphin to live in, but there’s enough room for him to splash around, turn and float comfortably. On either side is an underwater metal flap that reminds me of a giant pet door. I don’t quite understand how the tank was engineered, but the chutes must connect to the open sea, allowing Socrates to come and go as he pleases.

Socrates pokes his head over the lip of the Plexiglas. This puts him at eye level with me. He chatters happily. I give him a hug and kiss him right on the beak. I realize I’m smiling for the first time since the school’s destruction.

‘I don’t understand,’ I say. ‘How did you even find us?’

Hewett answers for him. ‘Your dolphin friend knows this boat well. HP has cultivated friendships with many of his family over the years. Socrates, did you call him?’

‘I … Yes.’ I was about to explain that Dev and I dive with Socrates every morning, but remembering that ritual is like walking barefoot over broken glass.

‘An appropriate name,’ says Hewett. ‘Well, Socrates knows he always has a berth on the Varuna if he wants to travel with us. Now come here, Miss Dakkar. Look at this.’

Again with the Miss. This is how they wear you down: they just keep making the same ‘oopsie’, hoping that you’ll eventually get tired of calling them on it.

‘Prefect,’ I grumble, but Hewett has already turned his attention to the conference table, where Gem and Nelinha have joined him.

I guess they don’t consider the bottlenose dolphin in the stateroom a big deal. Reluctantly, I go and sit down with my fellow humans.

Spread across the table is a nautical map of the Pacific. In some respects, it’s old-fashioned. The names are in fancy calligraphy. The compass rose is elaborately coloured. Illustrated sea monsters writhe in the corners.

However, the map is made of a material I’ve never seen before. It’s light grey, almost translucent, and perfectly smooth like it’s never been folded. The ink shimmers. If I look at it sideways, all the markings seem to disappear. I don’t want to think this with Socrates in the room, but the map reminds me of dolphin skin. Maybe, like the calcium carbonate of the Leyden projectiles, it has been organically ‘secreted’ in a lab somehow.

Oh, great. My thought process is spiralling down the alt-tech rabbit hole.

Sitting on top of the map is a coppery dome-shaped paperweight thingy. At least, in a normal world, it would be a paperweight. Its curved surface is laced with intricate wires. At the apex is a smooth, round indentation. It looks like the eye of a steampunk robot. I really hope it doesn’t open and stare at me.

Hewett eases himself into the chair across the table. He mops his brow with a handkerchief. I remember what Ester said: Diabetes. Underlying condition. Hewett has never been my favourite teacher. I don’t trust him. Still, I’m worried about his health. He is literally the only adult in the room, and the only one who might be able to give me answers.

Nelinha stands on my right, Gem on my left. They studiously avoid looking at each other. Socrates chatters and splashes in his tank.

Hewett picks up the paperweight. He leans across the table and sets it in the centre of the map, like he’s calling my bet in a poker game.

‘I won’t ask you to do this until you feel comfortable,’ he says. ‘But it is the only way forward.’

I look more closely at the object. That indentation at the top …

‘It’s a thumbprint reader,’ I guess. ‘I put my thumb on it and … what? It shows us a location on the map?’

Hewett smiles faintly. ‘It’s a genetic reader, actually. Keyed to your family’s DNA. But, yes, you have deduced its purpose.’