Daughter of the Deep(66)

‘Orders, Captain?’ Halimah sounds composed, but her hands tremble over the nav controls – usually not a good thing for a pilot.

I imagine Dr Hewett lying in his medical bed, Franklin shielding him as debris rains from the ceiling. I picture Lincoln Base’s corridors shaking, its lights flickering, Tia, Luca and Ophelia running desperately from one control panel to another, trying to maintain power as their weapons systems are systematically destroyed.

I wish I could help, but that’s not our mission. There’s nothing we can do for Lincoln Base.

‘Helm, set course due south,’ I say. ‘Full speed. Whatever that is.’

‘Course due south, full speed, aye.’

‘Dive, make our depth …’ I blink, trying to clear my head. I check the holosphere above Lee-Ann’s console. ‘Make depth twenty-five metres.’

‘Twenty-five metres, aye,’ Lee-Ann says.

In the pit of my stomach, I feel the sub start to accelerate and descend.

‘Captain.’ Nelinha’s voice crackles over the loudspeaker. ‘I think maybe we should back off the speed. I’m getting some weird readings from – OH, THAT’S NOT GOOD.’

The Nautilus shudders. Over the intercom, I hear the Cephalopods yelling. Behind us, down the corridor, more crew members shout with alarm.

‘Weapons room!’ Dru’s voice comes over the comm. ‘I’ve got green slime coming out of the ductwork!’

‘Galley!’ The voice is Brigid Salter’s. Behind her, I can hear an upset orangutan whooping and grunting. ‘There’s some kind of sludge pouring from the air vents. It’s spraying all over Jupiter’s pots and pans, and he is NOT okay with it!’

‘Engine room!’ Nelinha yells. ‘Main engines are down! We’ve got goo! I repeat, we’ve got goo!’

Halimah bangs her fist against the nav console. ‘Captain, we’re dead in the water.’

I curse under my breath. I remember the wad of putrefied seaweed that Luca pulled from the wiring compartment my first time on board. I imagine a flood of that foul-smelling Victorian-era sewage spewing from every duct and crevice around the ship, forced into circulation by the demands we’re putting on this old bucket of nemonium. What was I thinking, treating the Nautilus like a functioning submarine?

‘Nelinha,’ I call through the comm, ‘we need propulsion. Can you repair?’

The only answer is static and garbled shouting in the background.

‘I’ll go.’ Jack Wu charges off again.

‘Oh …’ Gem steps away from his console. ‘No, no, no.’

I assume goo must be leaking out of his console, but that’s not the problem. On Gem’s tactical display, the Aronnax has changed course. The base’s remaining turrets continue to fire on her, but the Aronnax doesn’t bother to shoot back. She veers east, making her way around the edge of the atoll.

‘What is she doing?’ Lee-Ann mutters.

‘They’ve spotted us,’ I say.

‘How?’ Halimah demands. ‘Our camouflage reads as operational.’

‘Maybe it isn’t,’ Virgil says. ‘It could’ve gone down with propulsion. Or maybe the Aronnax is picking up our thermal variations, like Ophelia said –’

‘It doesn’t matter right now,’ I say. ‘In less than a minute, they’ll have a direct line of fire. I need options.’

‘There’s the skiff,’ Gem says. ‘I could pilot it out, maybe draw their fire and buy you time. If I can get close enough to the Aronnax with conventional weapons –’

‘No, that’s suicide,’ I tell him. ‘Do we have any shieldy things?’

‘Shieldy things …’ Gem frowns at his console. ‘Um, I don’t –’

‘Nautilus.’ The voice booms from our speakers so loudly I jump. ‘THIS IS THE ARONNAX. SURRENDER OR BE DESTROYED.’

I recognize that voice. It’s our old friend/interrogation subject Caleb South.

‘How is this guy back?’ Gem grumbles. ‘I thought Land Institute punished failure.’

‘He must have come up with a really good lie,’ Lee-Ann speculates. ‘Maybe put all the blame on his classmates.’

‘Bah,’ Gem says. ‘I should’ve poked holes in his pink-ducky water wings.’

‘YOU’RE MOTIONLESS AND DEFENCELESS IN THAT PIECE OF JUNK,’ Caleb continues. ‘GIVE UP NOW, AND WE’LL SPARE YOUR BASE.’

The Nautilus shudders. I don’t think she likes being called junk.

‘Can we turn off his voice?’ I ask. ‘How is he even broadcasting over our comm?’

‘I – I’m looking,’ Virgil says, frantically turning dials.

Caleb’s tirade continues at a lower volume: ‘All we want is the Nautilus and Ana Dakkar. None of you will be harmed. We’ll treat you better than you treated me.’

‘They’re closing,’ Gem tells me. ‘One kilometre out now.’

The island’s defences continue to fire, trying to draw the Aronnax’s attention. Our enemy ignores the barrage. They are locked on us, almost as if …

A cramp hits my gut, folding my insides into various origami shapes.

‘They were never tracking the Varuna,’ I realize. ‘They were tracking me.’