Weapons fire traces like shooting stars across the holosphere, back and forth between the Aronnax and the turrets along what’s left of the atoll. One after another, the island’s defences go dark.
My mouth feels full of wet sand. ‘Gem, can you zoom in on the attacker?’
He fiddles with another knob. Suddenly I am seeing the Aronnax up close and personal – or at least her holographic image.
As we saw on Dr Hewett’s fuzzy drone footage, the ship is shaped like an arrowhead – as if Land Institute retrofitted a stealth bomber for underwater use. Surrounding its hull is a fuzzy violet halo that seems to be soaking up the discharges from the base’s defences.
‘What is that?’ I ask. ‘Some kind of shield?’
No one has an answer. We stare in horror as the Aronnax continues its slow and steady advance towards the island.
Virgil turns. ‘Ana … Captain … if they hit the main base with one of those seismic torpedoes –’
‘They wouldn’t,’ Ester says. ‘Not if they think their prize is inside.’
Their prize.
I clutch my armrests. I have never hated anything as much as I hate the Aronnax, but Ester is right. The Nautilus and I are prizes in a game of keep-away. We can’t be combatants in this fight.
‘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 –’