by London Shah
I suggested a full-blown riot this time. We need for it to be as chaotic inside as possible.
The water ahead looks clear. For now. The craft pushes through the current, which has becoming increasingly choppy. And then the view darkens.
They appear suddenly, looming in the distance. A pod of enormous whales. At the same time, strange jellyfish drop from above the vessel and rise out of the depths. I cry out and narrow my eyes. The dangly creatures remain deadly still. Their bells, tentacles, and muscles all pulse away, their clinical white lights illuminating the water.
Ari rushes to the viewport. “Bots.”
“How can you tell?”
“I’ve come across camouflaged bots my whole life. These things were never alive.”
I grimace. The shadows at the back grow bigger as the “whales” creep closer. The “jellyfish” near and hover in front of us.
I shake my head. So much I was totally unaware of, tucked safely away back in London.
“Erm, Oscar? I think we need to hurry.” I wipe my palms dry as I keep my gaze fixed on the visitors. “They don’t look too friendly.”
The “whales” are huge dark submersibles designed in every way to resemble the real thing. A narrow slit in the tip of the vessels, exactly where a whale’s mouth would be, is all they use for a window. They fire on us, golden-yellow blasts charging straight through the water toward us. The “jellyfish” now draw closer. The Kabul’s own firepower meets theirs head-on and the destructive forces explode as they clash.
Everywhere you look the current flares brilliant and bright, smoke and sparks spiraling in all directions before succumbing to the overpowering waters. The sub shudders.
“Oscar!” Ari shouts. “Blast them out of our way!”
“I have activated the shield, sir. The bots are seeking to impinge on our systems, and they’re also rather tenacious trackers. The shield ought to suffice in preventing this.”
The water ripples as the Kabul’s digital defense shield goes up. The jellyfish swim around the vessel, desperately trying to find a way through the blocking waves. The whale-like subs draw closer. And closer. The Kabul battles away, countering the firepower. All around the viewport the water lights up as our arsenal shoots through the current and explosives collide.
Thank goodness Theo had upgraded the vessel’s defense systems!
I gasp as further movement catches my eye. “There are more of them.” A wave of ammunition surges at the submarine from both directions. The vessel lurches. Alarms blare on the sub. I cry out as I stumble back.
All I can think of is us falling into an infinite abyss below, and every accursed creature we’ve ever been warned about, ready to emerge from the darkest depths to feast on us.
Oscar flickers. “I bring bleak tidings, my lady. We are outnumbered. The Kabul will not survive this attack.”
No. Papa. I pull myself together. “Get a bloody grip, Oscar!” I shout. “Fight for your vessel, dammit!”
Another alarm. The craft abruptly tips forward. Ari’s thrown against the windows. I scream. Jojo’s Bliss-Pod slides across the floor.
Ari clutches his head and tries to catch his breath. The sub shudders again.
“Go!” he yells at me. “Grab Jojo and leave. They’re distracted. You might survive if you take the submersible. Get out of here!”
Every part of my body quivers. I sway as I stagger to the main control panel. “Let’s try rising and—” Something catches my eye, and I turn around.
Small circular crafts emerge from the depths and into the chaos. I squint; they seem familiar.
“Ari!” I shout, just as the sub rocks again. I grab hold of a locker handle to steady myself. “Look!”
The compact subs open fire on the large whale-like vessels. They lock into battle with one another.
“Oh my God. It’s the people from Cambridge! It’s Bia’s lot!”
Ari runs to the main control panel. We both work away on the planes and propeller, stabilizing the Kabul as the new arrivals distract the prison vessels. At last, the submarine is steady again and the ominous swaying and alarms cease.
“Oscar!” Ari beckons.
The Navigator appears. “Please accept my most sincere and humble apolo—”
“Reverse a little,” Ari shouts at him. “We’re too visible! All defenses up, and attack with everything we have!”
The sub reverses. All at once, there’s chaos. The current grows turbulent and visibility is challenging. I stare at the sight before us. Further crafts and weaponry have now joined the battle. And it’s hell.
The water fills with drones, submersibles, and robots of all kinds—many of which are disguised as sea creatures. The “whales” fire missiles in every direction, and the “jellyfish” latch on to vessels. Lasers bounce everywhere I look. The manned prison’s crafts are all a uniform rocket-like shape. Bia’s people are in the compact circular subs I saw in Cambridge.
I can’t take my eyes off the scene. It seems unreal. Like those ancient computer games Old Worlders loved so much. Will we survive it? We have to.
There’s a communication request. Ari and Oscar pick off targets as I take the call. It’s Charlie. I turn the volume up, listening to him as I run a 360-degree scan of our surroundings.
“Bia’s gonna kill you!” he shouts from his sub. “You put her in a very difficult position. This is the farthest we’ve ever made it—thanks to yer sub taking hostiles out—but it’s still an impossible task. You’ll never get out alive!”
“I’m not leaving without Papa! Do you know if the door’s open?”
“It’s not gonna happen, Leyla, not today! Nobody can make it through that. Don’t let yer friend do it. It’s a death trap! They’re tracking everything, locking on to anything they find and blasting it to smithereens. We’ll try again another day, promise. For Neptune’s sake, get the hell out of here!” He cuts off.
What? No, no, no. Papa’s right there. Today. Now. Just below us. He might never make it to “another day”! And next time the prison will be even more prepared. I didn’t come all this way to just leave without him! After all that, it can’t end like this. It just can’t. My heart is trapped in my throat, rigid and restricting. I gulp for air.
I glance at Ari; he’s busy overseeing both attack and defense. Charlie’s words ring in my head. Don’t let your friend do it. It’s a death trap!
There must be another way . . . There must be!
Think, dammit. I look out. Death and destruction everywhere.
My racing heart misses a beat when I see it: a terrifying and reckless idea. An unchartered, ferocious wave that carries a little hope deep within its fold. I’ll never get another opportunity like this. I know that. I take deep breaths, cursing the sudden trembling in my legs.
It’s the unknown. . . . It’s everything wrong and horrifying. My throat hurts, my chest aches now. I can’t do it. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.
But I’m finally this close. Am I really going to give in to the fear now? My hands shake and I clasp them. Time’s running out.
I clear my throat and force the words out. “Just—just checking something in the engine room,” I call out.
Ari barely acknowledges, busy conferring with Oscar on the best response to a group of fishlike bots surrounding the vessel’s bow.
I hurry out, looking over my shoulder and grabbing a small bag as I leave. My heart pounds away and an icy chill sweeps over me as I head for the moon pool room.
I climb into the submersible, my movements clumsy and weighted.
“Lock the door behind me, Oscar. Don’t forget. You mustn’t leave it open a second longer once I’m away.”
I rummage through the compact bag I helped Ari pack, ensuring everything I might need is still here.
“I assure you, my dear lady, the Kabul will be secured the moment the craft is clear of the moon pool.”
I open and close my hands. I shift in the seat. Everything trembles: my arms, legs, hands—whole body. I w
ipe my palms on my legs again and look up. Ari’s standing beside the vessel, his eyes narrowed. Frustration flames their depths.
“What are you doing?”
“He’s my papa. It’s my responsibility. I haven’t come this far to leave without him. Charlie said they’re locking on to anything they find. You can’t go out into that; you’ll never make it down, never mind back. And I can’t compete with the sheer number of vessels, or their firepower. But I can try and do the one thing they won’t be expecting.” I clear my throat. “I will—” I swallow my doubt and lift my chin. “I will fall through it all.”
His jaw slackens and his eyes widen. “Leyla—”
“Think about it. With my power off, they can’t lock on to the submersible. And if they spot me, they’ll just assume I’ve been hit and won’t see me as a threat. And I really need to go now or I’ll be locked in there once the moon pool door closes again.”
His eyes are whirlpools of protest. “I promise we’ll try again; we’ll come back when—”
“Ari, you’re just going to have to trust me—and hope for the best. I’m not leaving this place without my papa. And this is our best chance of seeing this through.”
“Okay. Then let me go. It doesn’t have to be in the sub. I can swim down there; we are fast, Leyla. Let me—”
“And then what? If you go in without a sub, how will you bring Papa back?”
He throws his hands up in the air.
“Ari, we’re wasting precious time!”
He leans in. Just when I’m expecting more objections, he nods, though unease lingers at the corners of his mouth. My heart skips a beat as we lock gazes this close. Just beneath the fire in his eyes is something else. . . . He’s at once veiled and blazing bright.
“What?” I ask. “What is it, Ari?”
“If you panic, it could be fatal,” he says. He lowers his voice to a whisper now and rubs the back of his neck. “I need you to come back, Leyla.”
My insides flip. I nod, wishing we had more time.
“Alert me if you need my help,” he continues. “Tell me instantly, and I will be down there. If anyone can do this, you can. The fear . . . it’s only in your mind, remember. There’s nothing terrifying in the spaces you can’t see.”
“Yes.” I nod away, trying not to think too much about it.
Ari moves back to meet my gaze. “You’re confident you are familiar enough with the prison’s plans? And what weapons are you taking?”
“I know the layout and where Papa’s cell is, and I read your own notes, too. I have my brolly for any human guards.” I gesture to the small bag. “I have the tools. They don’t normally use the robot officers until midmorning, but there’s always the chance they might call on them earlier—especially if Bia’s guy is successful with creating a distraction. Hopefully none will cross my path, though. And I already have all the files—including the prison’s blueprints.” The sub lurches. “I have to go,” I say.
He looks at me once more. “You can do this, Leyla.” He nods and strides out of the room.
I lock the door and I’m soon through the hatch and inside the adjacent compact space, acclimatizing to the pressure outside.
Okay, time to go. I take several deep breaths. The hatch releases, and I’m now through to the moon pool.
I can do this. It’s similar to the marathon out there. Just a bunch of obstacles and challenges, that’s all. I push forward on both the joystick and throttle and the craft nose-dives a little. It immediately rocks in all the turbulence. The door closes above me. My heart stutters.
It’s nothing like the marathon.
It’s a massacre. I cry out at the onslaught of vessels, robots, and firepower all around me. Flames from bulky shapes and shadows burst into being, burning bright for one brief moment before fading to nothing. I shift in my seat, taking it all in. Focus. I gulp and straighten, peering into the depths. Somewhere directly below me is the prison.
And its only entrance closes again soon.
Each time my failed attempt at a freefall pops into my head, I have to shake it away. The terror is still too fresh. I take deep breaths. I can do this. You won the London Marathon! There’s nothing to fear; the dread is all in my mind.
The constant shifting of the waves in all the action decreases visibility. I grit my teeth and check the depth gauge. The craft’s wings retract, folding against the sub’s body.
I move into place so I can fall just close enough to the prison, and grimace as I cut the power. Bismillah. My body tenses. See, nothing to it.
My insides heave at the sudden drop.
The compact sub plummets through the void, hurtling toward only God knows what.
Flickering chaos. Lights. Fire. Lasers. Crafts whooshing past me. Froth. Bots darting by. Flashing “jellyfish” tentacles.
I’m falling, falling, falling. And the dread just keeps on rising.
Anything could happen. I’m plunging through a great big nothing, and just about anything could be hiding down there in the veiled abyss, deep in the shadows where only terror slithers, waiting. Oh God. A familiar feeling tries to surface—the eternal fear clawing, trying to drag me down with it.
I’m not going to make it. I’m going to die. Papa will remain locked up forever.
Papa. His words echo in my head now.
Don’t you know I would sail every current, ride every wave, and dive into any depth, until I found you?
I force myself to focus. The submersible spins on its way to the ocean floor.
I gulp for air, cursing the queasy sensation taking over now. My heartbeat thrashes away in my ears, my chest. My body jerks in every direction as the craft rolls. My stomach churns. I scrunch my face up; I should never have had that warm drink. Fixing my gaze on the seabed is impossible; I just don’t know what I’m looking out for.
A glimmer of something else—a dark surface. It can only be the bottom. I shiver. The flashing chaos lessens around me. The shadow sharpens as the seabed pulls me closer. There are no lights there to guide me. I keep my eyes locked on the darkness as it grows closer. Wait . . . wait for it. . . . At the last possible moment, I power back up and skim the pitch-black rugged terrain. The altitude warning light blinks away.
I take long, deep breaths to combat the dizziness; I need all my focus now. I spin around in the seat, twisting my neck in every direction as I peer out.
I made it. . . . I actually managed to fall through it all without being hit—and without letting the dread conquer me!
Hazy silhouettes move far above me, but there’s nobody down here. I inhale and blow my cheeks out as I try to navigate the structure. It looks like a giant, sprawling rock, designed, like the Trading Post at Cambridge, to resemble a natural part of the seabed. I pull back on the throttle and the craft slows down. I circle the entire structure—nothing. I shift in my seat and groan. Somewhere is the entrance to a moon pool. But where? The ground ripples. I peer closer and shudder.
Enormous arachnids scurry along the seabed. Ugh. Dark, webbed spiders dragging some kind of tail behind them, and spindly white spiders with the longest legs, like they’re on stilts. Two of the ghostly spiders are fighting. One raises its legs and swings at the other, pushing it back. Into nothing. The spider vanishes. It literally disappears before my eyes. Into the rock.
I press my face against the dome, and there it is: the tiniest hint of a glimmer. They’re concealing the entrance using a projection. My pulse races.
I take a deep breath and charge into the rock face.
I pass straight through the projection and find myself in an enclosed passage. Ahead, light trickles down through the waves. The moon pool!
I speed toward it, then pull back on the joystick and forward on the throttle. The sub rockets through the pool. A robotic arm lowers toward me. My heart beats faster and faster. I peer out in every direction. I don’t have long.
Nobody’s around in the moon pool room or smaller chamber, and I’m soon through all the hatches. I grab
my brolly and exit. Curse the trembling. I wipe my sweaty palm and reach for the door’s release.
I shiver. I’m in a long, freezing-cold corridor. A siren wails away. The stench of damp and rot is suffocating, scratching at my throat.
I turn, and before I’ve taken a single step, a towering prison officer lunges toward me out of nowhere, baton raised. I stumble back, about to lift my brolly. The baton pauses mid-strike and falls out of his hand. The officer looks startled, before slumping down in front of me.
A large woman steps out from behind him, a small laser weapon in her hand.
It’s another prison officer, and she doesn’t look happy.
“What in God’s name are ya doing here?” she asks. “Where’s the rescue party? Ya can’t be serious? I’m risking me bloody position—me life—here, and they send in one wee girl? Where’s the rest of ’em?”
I snap out of shock, and find my tongue. “You’re . . . you’re Bia’s guy?”
“Aye, ya catch on quick, lassie,” she says, shaking her head. “Name’s McGregor. I’ve done me bit.” She jabs her thumb upward. “It’s madness up there. A bit too chaotic—sent management into panic. They ordered the door shut, so I’ve been risking everything hanging around here, keeping it open manually. What kept ya? Never mind—spit out yer plan, and make it quick.”
My pulse races. “Get up to Papa’s level—I have the plans, I know which cell it is. I break into it. I grab Papa, and we run back down here via the east-wing staircase. We—”
“Stop right there.” She holds a hand up. “There’ll be no running around once you’ve got yer old man. The inmates on that cellblock can barely walk, never mind run. You’ll be wanting one of those.”
She points to a stack of wheelchairs against the corridor’s wall. I swallow, trying not to think what it all means, why they can barely walk, and quickly reach for the stack.
“Not yet!” she says. “It’ll slow ya down. They have them on every level, and there are ramps at both ends of the corridors. And you’ll need this.” She passes me a card. “It’ll open the cell a lot faster than whatever ya had in mind. Now scoot or you’ll be locked in here; I don’t know how long I can fool them keeping this door open. Ya shouldn’t come across too many guards, if any at all—I’ve made sure those on watch are tied up on the higher levels. I’ve risked me neck for this little stunt, and ya better not let me down, lassie. See ya back here pronto. Now go!” She disappears inside the small chamber, shutting the door behind her.
