Daughter of the Deep(82)

Halimah and Lee-Ann both look at me like maybe they misheard.

‘Captain –’ Halimah stops herself, apparently tamping down her misgivings. ‘Aye, Captain. Bringing us about.’

The ship groans louder as we level off and turn.

‘Engine room,’ Nelinha says. ‘Captain, about that stress on the choo-choo –’

‘I know, Nelinha,’ I say. ‘Just keep her together a little longer, please. Weapons, power up the forward Leyden cannon. Stand by for Leidenfrost shielding. Comm, can you open a channel to the Aronnax and its skiff?’

‘Aye, Captain,’ Virgil says. ‘Channel open.’

I press my hand against the armrest’s control sphere, as if it can reassure me that I do in fact have Nemo’s DNA. This is the first time I’ve spoken to Dev since his betrayal. It’s the first time I’ve announced myself to our enemies. I can’t have my voice trembling.

‘Aronnax,’ I say. ‘This is Captain Ana Dakkar of the Nautilus. Stand down or you will be destroyed.’

Silence.

The hardest thing about making a stupid bluff is reminding yourself that your opponent doesn’t know it’s a stupid bluff. The Aronnax has seen us recover from an EMP blast. They’ve seen us fire two torpedoes. They won’t know if we have any more. They won’t know what other capabilities we might have.

I also have to assume they took some damage from our first shot. I don’t expect them to surrender. Dev would never do that. But he might stall for time, giving his skiff a chance to return to the Aronnax. Until our cold-fusion reactor is back online, I’ll take all the time I can get.

When Dev speaks, he sounds ready to snap. ‘Nice try, sis. But right now, I’m the only one over here trying to keep you alive. The next shot won’t be to cripple. It’ll send you all to the bottom. Nautilus crew, you know who I am. I’m the senior Dakkar family member. That ship belongs to me. Stand down.’

The bridge crew looks to me.

‘Gearr an líne,’ I tell Virgil. Cut the line.

Gem turns. ‘They’re opening forward tubes. Four of them.’

My heart sinks into my gut. A spread of four torpedoes at this range –

‘Leidenfrost shields,’ I order. ‘Fire forward Leyden cannon. Helm, evasive manoeuvres –’

But it’s too much to ask of the old choo-choo engine. A CLANG echoes through the ship like we’ve broken a crankshaft. The LOCUS displays flicker like candle flames in a breeze.

‘Helm unresponsive!’ Halimah says.

‘Leidenfrost inoperative!’ Gem adds.

‘NO!’ Nelinha comes on the comm, sharing a few choice curses in Portuguese. ‘I told you, Ana! I need more time!’

‘We need more power!’ I yell back.

But we don’t have either.

On Gem’s display, the purple triangle of the Aronnax looms closer. Dev’s skiff hovers a few hundred metres off our port side, waiting to loot the carcass of our ship. Then a string of four smaller blips appears from the Aronnax’s prow.

We are about to be dead in the water. Literally.





I have one last desperation play. I slam my hand against the armrest console and yell, ‘Nautilus, emergency dive! Forward vents!’

The ship must hear the urgency in my voice. With her final gasp of coal-powered energy, she jettisons ballast and spews aerated water over the prow, whiting out the windows.

An emergency descent is one thing submarines do very well. Rather like giving up and collapsing, it doesn’t take much energy. We sink like a rock.

On Gem’s LOCUS, the Aronnax’s four torpedoes sail straight over our heads – their guidance systems confused by the cloud of air and ballast.

I start to say, ‘Rig for –’ when the chain explosion detonates a hundred metres beyond our stern.

I black out from the shock wave.

When my senses start working again, the bridge is dark except for an electrical fire at Virgil’s comm station. The LOCUS displays are dead. An acrid haze hangs in the air. Top is barking indignantly, still restrained in his doggy bed. Ester stumbles around, checking the bridge crew for injuries. Virgil sits dazed on the floor, his seat belt broken, a wisp of smoke curling from his hair. Gem has a trickle of blood glistening on the side of his face.

‘All weapons offline,’ Gem says. ‘No shielding.’

‘No helm control,’ says Halimah.

‘Depth forty-two metres,’ Lee-Ann reports. ‘I’ve only got analogue readings, but the Aronnax … Oh.’ Her voice shrinks. ‘There she is.’

She’s not looking at her controls. She’s looking out of the windows.

For the first time, I see the enemy sub in person.

About fifty metres away through the clear blue water, the Aronnax looms over us. She appears smaller than the Nautilus, though much more sinister – a black triangle of death with zero sonar profile. Disappointingly, I see no damage on her hull from our torpedo. I doubt we look as intact or dangerous to them.

‘Comm, can you pick up anything?’ I ask. Then I remember Virgil is on the floor and his station is on fire.

The Nautilus responds to my request instead. The loudspeaker crackles. Garbled voices come over the line – Dev yelling from the skiff; a young woman’s voice yelling back from the Aronnax’s bridge. Apparently, Dev is miffed about her decision to fire a full complement of torpedoes at near point-blank range. His prize could’ve been destroyed. He could have been destroyed.