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.
Underwater hand-to-hand combat is the worst.
It’s like trying to fight someone to the death while wearing one of those inflatable sumo-wrestler costumes. Your movements are slow, cumbersome and ridiculous. You can’t get any muscle behind your punches and kicks. But, since we can’t zap our enemies point-blank underwater without zapping ourselves, Gem and I don’t have much choice.
The nearest diver jabs me with his knife.
If I were wearing a regular wetsuit, I’d be dead. As it is, my nemonium weave deflects the point, but it doesn’t spare me completely. The razor-sharp edge rips the fabric and grazes my ribs.
Salt water and open wounds are a painful combination. My left side seizes up. White spots swim in my eyes. Nevertheless, I use my boots to wrestle my attacker, pushing him backwards into one of the pier’s pylons. His air tank hits the post with a dull clink. I grab his wrist, stopping his blade an inch from my face.
To my left, the sounds of bubbles and angry grunts tell me Gem is fighting the second diver. I can’t risk a glance to see how he’s doing.
My opponent glares at me through his scuba mask, his eyes full of hate. I imagine he’s heard about the destruction of the Aronnax. He wants revenge.
I’m not going to win a contest of strength against him, especially with my left side in agony. My Leyden gun is useless in close quarters, so, while my enemy is focused on trying to stab me in the face, I grope for my knife instead. Before the diver realizes what’s happening, I unsheathe my blade and stab him in the BC vest.
I don’t have the strength to wound him seriously, but that’s not my goal. With his vest’s air bladder punctured, my opponent is blinded by bubbles. He starts to sink, instinctively releasing my wrist and flailing for balance. On his way down, I kick him in the face for good measure.
I imagine he’ll be back, but in the meantime I turn towards Gem.
Despite all his guns, Mr Twain has got himself into a bit of a jam. The second LI diver apparently landed in the water behind him and has managed to wrap one arm around Gem’s neck. He’s now attempting to pop Gem’s helmet to get at the tasty prizes inside. Gem struggles to free himself, firing one of his SIG Sauers next to his attacker’s ear, but even for Gem it’s not easy to blast someone who’s strangling him from behind.