Daughter of the Deep(84)

Gem’s smile makes me glad he’s on my side. ‘I thought you’d never ask.’





Gem packs light.

He only brings his regular sidearms, a Leyden pistol, a Leyden rifle and a bandolier of high-tech grenades he found who-knows-where. No flamethrower, and he hasn’t dismantled the forward cannon to lug it along, either. For him, this shows great restraint.

I bring only a Leyden pistol and my dive knife. Still, the skiff is a snug fit, especially since we’re wearing dive suits and helmets. We’re not sure what we’ll be facing. The skiff has no weapons or defences. We may need to ditch it at a moment’s notice. I suppose we could take the top off and make it a convertible, but this doesn’t seem like the right occasion for a joyride.

Strapped in and sealed up, we flood the docking bay. The floor irises open and we drop into the blue. I ease forward on the throttle. The skiff responds like a Maserati. (Full disclosure: I have never driven a Maserati.) We zip towards Lincoln Base, following the LOCUS sphere’s guidance system.

‘They’ve had a week to set up new defences,’ Gem muses. ‘Could be contact mines in the tunnel. Lasers.’

‘Maybe,’ I say. ‘But at the speed Dev raced through it –’

‘Yeah,’ Gem agrees. ‘Dev tends to play an offensive game. Let’s keep our eyes peeled anyway.’

I glance over. I forget that Dev was Gem’s house captain. Over the last two years, they’ve probably spent more time together than Dev and I have.

On the side of Gem’s face, the trickle of blood has dried in a grim serpentine design. In the faint glow of his fishbowl helmet, his countenance reminds me of the bronze Shiva statue my dad used to keep in our family shrine: serene and vigilant, ready to smite evildoers by any means necessary. Maybe I can see some similarity between Gem, Dev and Dr Hewett after all – they all have the same aura of latent ferocity.

‘When we get there,’ I say, ‘our first priority is saving the hostages.’

‘If they’re alive.’

‘They will be.’ I force myself to believe it. ‘Otherwise, Dev wouldn’t be racing back to the base. We do whatever’s needed to free them, but we don’t use lethal force unless we have to.’

Gem scowls. ‘Define “have to”.’

‘Gem …’

‘I’m kidding. Mostly.’

We plunge into the mouth of the cave.

I wish I had time to appreciate how well the skiff handles. The adventures I could have in this thing! I wonder what Socrates would think if I showed up in the skiff to give him dance lessons and squid.

The thought of my dolphin friend brings me back to the present. Socrates is probably in the least danger of anyone at Lincoln Base. Still … I roll forward on the control sphere, pushing us faster through the tunnel.

As soon as we emerge from the lava tube, our LOCUS display flickers back to life.

‘EJECT!’ I yell, before I have time to process why.

Dev’s skiff is waiting for us. A millisecond after I register it on the LOCUS, I see it with my own eyes: a black wedge bristling with weapons like the spines of a porcupine fish. It faces us from only fifty feet away, and behind its transparent front view shield, in the pilot’s seat, is my brother.

Maybe it’s something in his face, or just my instincts. I punch the emergency eject: simultaneously killing our engine, blowing the roof and launching Gem and me out of our seats. It’s a good thing we’re already in dive suits. We hurtle forward, driven by momentum and our jet boots over the top of Dev’s submersible as he fires a projectile at our now-abandoned skiff. The silver harpoon impales the seat where I was sitting a moment before, discharging a fractal lacework of blue lightning.

We sail over Dev’s stern. Before Dev can turn to face us, Gem shoulders his Leyden rifle and fires two rounds straight into the submersible’s propulsion system. Green flashes illuminate the engine casing. The propeller freezes. Deprived of power, Dev’s sub lists to port and begins to sink.

‘Should we pull out the crew?’ Gem asks.

I am shaking with rage and adrenalin. Part of me wants to prise my brother from that heavily armed shoebox just so I can kick him in the groin. He wasn’t wearing a dive suit when I glimpsed him through the window of his sub. It will take him and his boarding party time to either restore power or gear up and abandon ship, but I’m sure they’ll survive. Dev is resourceful.

‘The hostages are more important,’ I say. ‘We keep going.’

We jet through the lagoon, stirring up clouds of luminous phytoplankton in our wake. As the dock’s pylons come into view, gunfire rains down from above, the bullets punching white funnel clouds into the water before the drag and density stop them cold.

At five metres deep, we’re safe from just about any kind of conventional ammo fired from the dock. On the other hand, we can’t fire up at them with any success. Land Institute must know this. They’re just sending us a message. We’re here, we know you’re there, and if you try to surface you’re dead.

‘Under the dock,’ I suggest. ‘Come up behind them.’

‘Got it,’ Gem says.

But Land Institute saves us the trouble. Apparently, they’re feeling like kids on Christmas morning. We’re their presents, and they want to open us right now. The gunfire stops. Two divers plunge feet first into the water, right on top of us, engulfing us in a tornado of bubbles.