by London Shah
It’s an opening into the unknown.
I fiddle with the joystick until I can delay it no longer, and push it forward. Bismillah.
The submersible descends into the abyss below.
Small wings emerge from the vessel’s sides. I hover a couple of meters beneath the shadow of the submarine. The small craft rocks in the higher currents. I look around in every direction. The Kabul overhead makes it difficult to see much.
Once Oscar’s assured me the moon pool door is closed, I move out of the submarine’s shadow and make my way around to the front.
The sheet is larger than I first thought, with most of it hanging below the vessel. It takes several nudges and tight maneuvers before it’s dislodged from the viewport and slinks away. I turn around, take the strange waters in, and hold my breath.
It’s the first time in my entire life that I’m sat in a submersible outside of London. I’m actually here in waters I’ve only ever before viewed on maps and screens.
A slight tremor runs through me as I glance out at the unfamiliar territory. But there’s something else, too. Faint light breaks through the waves here and there. The water isn’t as murky as I expected, with optimum visibility. The blue-green depths are clear all around us. A craving takes hold, rippling through and flooding my whole being until finally every cell tugs at me with longing.
I’ve missed speeding in the water terribly. Would it be so wrong to just escape all the confusion by doing something I love for a few minutes? I wouldn’t be wasting too much time—we’re already out here.
“Oscar?”
“My lady?” The Navigator hovers above the dashboard.
“I’m taking the submersible for a swift sprint. Keep the Kabul right here, and we’ll be back soon.”
“Very well, my dear. Bon voyage!”
Ari shakes his head, his mouth set in a straight line.
“I want to know what it’s like out here,” I say. “I need to feel it.”
Leaning forward, I ensure Jojo’s strapped securely to Ari’s chest and silently curse the rush of color to my cheeks as my hands brush against him. Oh great. I’m completely losing the plot.
I slide the joystick forward, and we descend.
The welcome hint of civilization greets us as the seabed comes into view. The solar spheres on the surface light up the depths, bathing the city in a gentle blue-white incandescence. Illumination pulses and beams from structures, traffic, and the lit-up orbs rooted deep into the ground below. Though the Path of Light is now seventy years old, thanks to the ingenuity of Old World engineers, the huge orbs remain our main source of light along the seabed.
There are far fewer submersibles around here than in the capital. It would make for a fab racing ground. My heart expands as I move the throttle all the way forward and the sub speeds up. Freedom.
I navigate the city. Oh, how I missed this. Ahead, the well-lit white train station is vast. Its high-dome center and eight terminals sprawl out on the seabed like some never-ending octopus.
I sail on the current, circling old high-rises and office blocks, and loop-the-looping a dilapidated walkway, much to Jojo’s delight. I flip the vessel several times. When I right the craft, I feel Ari’s gaze on me and turn to him.
His face is relaxed, his eyes bright beneath the thick, dark lashes. The corners of his full mouth are slightly curved up, softening his sharp angles. Shoulder-length hair, damp from his shower, falls in waves around his face. Heat radiates through my chest, warm and blissful.
And then I suddenly imagine him with gills.
I draw my head back swiftly, gulping away the warm feeling. What on earth is wrong with me? He’s one of them!
I shake my head and force myself to focus on the surroundings instead of Ari’s expression just now.
For just a brief and glorious moment, I’d forgotten. He wasn’t one of them, and things hadn’t changed between us. I sigh and press on.
The sub dives into a street of individual and clearly wealthy homes, all the exteriors cast in gold and titanium. Each dwelling is designed to resemble a house from an ancient era. They totally look like Old World homes that just miraculously never decay. Some even have mock chimneys and picket fences around them, reminding me of Camilla’s house. The chief historian’s home also has a coveted late Second Elizabethan park bench in the front garden.
Jojo barks. She stiffens in Ari’s lap and growls.
“Over there.” Ari points.
“Oh my God, are they Anth—”
“No,” he says curtly, then runs his hands through his hair, sighing.
I frown and bite back a response. Traveling with him is going to be a very long journey.
I move the sub closer. Next door to the Victorian-style home is a house with mock Tudor beams along the exterior. The garden features a washing line, complete with clothes hanging and swaying on the current. Beside the washing line is a bench. In the center of this bench sits a child holding on to a doll’s pram. They rock the pram back and forth. On the other side of the garden, another child holds on to a kite, swinging their arm to and fro as the kite drifts along. A toddler sits on a tricycle, knees rising alternately as they pedal.
I clear my throat. “Projections?” I whisper.
But they aren’t projections either. I move in closer. The sub hovers above the garden.
“Dolls . . . Oh my God, they’re dolls.” I shudder. “But why? Why go to all that effort? They’ll have paid mechanical labor a ton just to have that done.”
“They refuse to accept the reality,” Ari says, his voice so very low now and dripping with scorn. His eyes turn cold, his mouth pinched. “They live in the Old World.”
I shake my head, my mouth open. “What a strange and utterly sad place.”
“There are many more like it.”
Something moves inside the pram. A bulky, ghostly pale creature that looks like a gigantic insect rises out of it. Its huge shell is made of overlapping segments, and its antennae twitch away. It drifts toward the toddler on the tricycle and feasts on a fish trapped in the child’s hood. The toddler continues to smile and pedal. Bloody hell. I grimace.
Wiping my clammy palms, I push the throttle all the way forward and speed down the street and around the corner.
And stop in my tracks.
A light beams down in front of us. A lone submersible, its small wings resembling the airplanes of old, tilts as it descends. The fluorescent-
checkered design on the body glimmers.
The police.
Oh hell. Have they spotted me? As slowly as possible, I duck down and reverse. I turn just as laser beams flash all around us to indicate an inspection. Damn.
“We can’t be stopped by coppers,” I say. “We just can’t.” And then I realize: If they stop us, Ari probably has even more to lose than I have. My chest tightens.
He shakes his head. “Why do you have to be so stubborn? You could have been safely back on the sub.” He lifts his chin. “You’re my responsibility, so let’s do things my way now.”
I straighten in my seat, gripping the throttle and joystick. “Let’s bloody not.”
The coppers are just visible behind me when I push the throttle all the way forward and set the propeller at full speed. I pull back on the joystick, and the sub rockets out of their way.
A quick peek behind. No. They’re on my tail.
I wipe my sweaty palms and race on, before diving toward the city seabed. Lights flash in an underground tunnel as a train whooshes through. I dip lower, ducking beneath the tunnel. Curse the sub’s ground and fore lights. Whichever I select, it casts illumination around me and will attract attention. I need something more discreet. The sandstorm beam.
I select the sharp but short beam and switch all other lights off. Oh crikey. It will have to do, though. Using only the beam’s limited glare, and the muted glow coming from the tunnel above me, I glide on as fast as I dare. My stomach heaves. I focus on the ocean floor as I skim it. Are they still following me?
&n
bsp; I come out from beneath the tunnel, and Ari curses as we both spot another police car in the distance. They really are determined, dammit.
“Let’s try this once more,” I say.
I ram the throttle and set the propeller at full speed. Jerking the joystick back, I soar above the police car. I keep rising until the current becomes too volatile for the submersible, then I speed away.
When I can no longer see anyone behind me, I dive. My pulse races. I keep the joystick pushed forward until I’m just above the seabed. At last I balance the craft and pause to check on Jojo. The puppy’s all right. I turn to view the surroundings and jolt. I hold my breath until I understand where we are.
It’s an ancient theme park.
Huge arches of rusted metal tower in the murky depths before me. To my side a hefty sign, too oxidized to decipher, hangs precariously off another twisting frame that trails onward until it’s out of sight. Below me, the bulky carcass of a sea creature is lodged in a vehicle lying on its side, a giant ice cream sculpture sticking out from the roof of the van.
We rise a little, swerving sharply to avoid a falling corroded sheet, with its faded image of a huge wave of water still just visible; the sign sinks below, finally giving in to the environment. All manner of frames loom in every direction; some are broken, others carry on, disappearing into the cloaking depths. I stiffen as tiny pulsing lights move erratically in the space ahead. Eyeballs. I rise higher.
I’m above the roller coaster now and speed along its track. Seaweed wraps itself around the construction and fish forage in the rusty crevices. A quick glance over my shoulder: the blip of a light. An Eyeball on my tail.
I loop under and over crisscrossing structures. The craft zigzags in and out of a long horizontal frame that still has a row of cars on its top and swerves around a vertical grid. Pole after defiant pole looms in the cloudy vastness. More lights—I need to hide.
I take a quick scan of the area. Nothing that would conceal us. The pulsing of the Eyeballs grows brighter, closer.
I peer below. The sub’s ground light picks up giant cups. My gaze darts to the ride next to it. It has several toddler-size vehicles around the edge and enough room in the center for the sub, if I’m really careful. I inch the vessel right into the middle of the cars. Movement to my left catches my eye; there’s something in the vehicle next to us.
A huge overturned shell tilts to one side, and a single, slimy tentacle reaches out from beneath. Bright suckers run along its dark, glossy arm as it unfurls and feels the water around the car. The tentacle retreats, and the shell moves once more to hide the octopus. Please just stay there. Octopuses are so bloody clever and known to be extremely stubborn if they attach themselves to your sub. I really don’t fancy carrying one back to the Kabul.
I take deep breaths—one, two, three—and switch everything off. Total darkness. I gulp.
“Hey, baby, you all right?” I whisper to Jojo, and reach out to comfort her; the dark can be paralyzing. My hand catches Ari’s instead, and I jerk it back at once.
Get a grip. Thank God he can’t see my face, because it’s roasting.
Minutes pass. The odd light still pulses here and there. My heartbeat whooshes away. It’s such a dense space. Something flickers and moves past the sub. Hold on.
I mustn’t let the dread in. Not now. I can’t afford to.
My shoulders rise and fall. Again, something unidentifiable passes by. I sit on my hands. A sense that I’m sinking claws at me. Just about anything could be lurking in the cloaked waters, watching us. Waiting to swallow us whole, to cloud the depths with our blood. I shudder, my breathing loud. At last, the pulsing lights recede.
I let out a shaky breath. “It’s time to go.” My voice is small. Everything feels tight—my face, hands, stomach, chest. My thoughts. My palms are sweaty, and I wipe them on my thighs before powering up. The sub’s fore light illuminates the surroundings and startles some passing dab that swiftly bolt away. I summon the Navigator.
“Oscar, coordinates for the Kabul, please.”
He appears, tilting his head. “The submersible is connected to the submarine, my dear. If you select the house icon, the Kabul will guide you home to her.”
Home. Where is that anymore?
What is Ari’s home like? I frown; who cares?
The water ahead is clear. I relax a little and only now realize just how tense I was. I initiate the tracking device and follow the route back.
Ari gestures to the water. “There is nothing to fear,” he says quietly. “It’s the same environment. It doesn’t change when you can’t see it. It’s still water, creatures, people in vessels. That is all. Nothing else.”
Well, of course you wouldn’t be afraid of the environment! I want to spit out.
Instead I hold back my words and look ahead.
He’s wrong.
You might not be able to see the dread, but it exists. It visits me in dark places. And has done so for as long as I can remember.
I fold the paper Theo wrapped my brolly in—Christmas Day seems like a lifetime ago—bending and molding it into shape, my still-strapped fingers mildly annoying. Jojo’s just eaten and lies snuggled up beside me in the viewport. The cozy glow from an orange Lumi-Orb on the floor beside us fills the space, the small sphere’s light warming the evening. League after league of the dark waters roll by as we press on. This morning’s excursion
in the sub could have had serious implications. . . . I need to be more careful. The news plays in the background.
A gulper eel swims up to the windows; its lengthy tail glows bright pink at the tip as it whips the water in the sub’s light. The long creature spies some shrimp, and its humongous mouth opens wide, trapping a good deal of water along with the catch. The unwanted liquid spills out through its gills as it gulps the meat down. My tummy rumbles. Ari is in the galley. He wanted to prepare dinner and suggested I rest.
Do Anthropoids never feel tired?
I can’t think too much on his identity without panic and confusion gripping me, and then it’s all I can do to distract myself from the fact. But I do know that what I saw in him previous to finding out his secret hasn’t gone away. I’m not sure what this means.
How can I think anything positive about him still, when he’s one of them?
The news on in the background is as gloomy as ever.
A corner shop was robbed at midday on its route through Liverpool city center; a passing bot spotted it and alerted the authorities just in time. The elderly shopkeeper was given medical assistance, and the vandalized vessel towed to safety. Next there’s a vote for which Old World ruin ought to receive special renovation treatment—Windsor Castle or Syon House.
How can your sense of nostalgia render you so shortsighted that you at once spend millions to stop the unstoppable disintegration of ruins, while also happily believing you’ll be leaving them behind very soon, to return to the surface? I mute the news and put on soft music instead.
Ari enters with dinner and places the large tray of food down in the viewport. Delicious smells waft around the saloon.
He points to the tray. “I chose at random.”
“Thank you.”
We both sit to eat.
He tucks into the saffron rice and lamb korma, gesturing to the food. He clears his throat. “Your mother was from Afghanistan.” It’s a statement more than a question.
It catches me off guard. “What?”
I can’t help visualizing the scene. An Anthropoid boy speaking to a human girl about her family, where she comes from.
I am a human being, he’d said yesterday.
I’m so tired. So many thoughts and feelings and I don’t have a clue what to do with them.
If small talk gets rid of the suffocating awkwardness that’s sprung up between us since the discovery, then it’s most welcome. Anything to make this situation less uncomfortable. The confusion I’ve felt since is beyond exhausting.
“Yes . . . from Kabul. Hence the sub�
��s name.”
He nods. “I like the name.”
I think for a while, then continue. “Papa’s also of Afghan descent, but he was born here. Mama came here in her late teens, fell in love with Papa, and stayed.” I realize I’m smiling for the first time in what seems like forever.
His expression warms as he watches me. And I know the answer to the question he asked me yesterday: I’m not afraid of him. Even though it goes against everything—because how can I not be afraid of an Anthropoid? But I’m not afraid of Ari.
Should I be, though? Everything the Anthropoid Watch Council has ever said about them says I ought to be terrified of him.
But . . . he put himself at risk, on full display as an Anthropoid, to free the sub so we could escape the attack. Escape the Blackwatch.
What might’ve happened if he’d put himself before me? If he’d refused to enter the water so his identity could remain secret? I shudder at the thought.
He also had the chance to just swim away from it all, but he stayed. It stayed? Color floods my cheeks as my use of it to refer to Anthropoids hits me. I might not understand much else right now, but I do know Ari is very definitely not an it.
“You’re a Muslim,” he says, interrupting my thoughts. “My granddad was a Muslim; he was Mauritian.”
Mauritian. I did wonder about his skin tone. And a Muslim in his family! “Yes. Are you religious in any way?”
I know that even among religious people—and much to the
government’s disappointment—opinions regarding Anthropoids and religion are split. Many religious leaders insist that despite their evil characteristics, the Anthropoids are human beings in the eyes of God and therefore can be saved from . . . their barbaric ways.
I gulp; why am I thinking about this now, dammit.
He shrugs. “Mum and Dad are agnostic, and I . . . I guess I am too.”
“I see. Have you always lived in the Faroe Islands?”
He seems taken aback whenever I ask him something. He stares intently at me now before lowering his gaze and rubbing the back of his neck. Why? What did I say?
We are silent again for several moments. I can feel Ari’s gaze fall on me once more, but I can’t bring myself to meet it. Is there any point to all this? Will I ever see him as human?
