Warmth flushes my face and my lips part when I stand inside the passageway. How can the place feel so familiar? No detailing of the craft’s interior resembles anything I’ve ever experienced before. Yet the space welcomes us, embraces us. Blimey, it’s the total opposite of my own building’s corridor! I hold the travel box carrying Jojo up so she can see.
“Can I take her out now please? I won’t let go of her.”
Deathstar agrees and Jojo is soon in my arms, peering around, mystified.
The officials head downstairs for the control room where they’ll wait for us.
The mechanic guides us along the narrow passageway. Pipes of all sizes run along its length. Despite its industrial appearance, it’s a homey space—a mixture of copper, steel, bronze, and iron, and cozy hues of mustard yellow, browns, and reds. My mouth curves into a wide smile as I crane my neck in every direction.
“Tanks, the fresh water system,” the mechanic continues as he points out what lies behind each door. The doors themselves are walnut, several inches thick, and round at the corners. “Storerooms. Galley’s next, hopefully with everything you’d need, but can’t stop right now, I’m afraid.”
The floating camera whizzes away in the spaces around us.
We approach the wide pair of doors at the tip of the craft. All doorframes have a small security monitor fixed to them, and I can assign clearance procedures to any room I wish, Deathstar explains.
“And up front we have the saloon, of course.”
The doors slide open and we all inhale at once.
The living quarters are open and cozy—a world away from my boxy, cold flat. Fixed furniture, a warm cherry wood that matches the floors, is dotted around. There’s plush violet seating to the left of the room; I push my hands down on the deep seats and laugh. All around, muted greens, yellows, coral, and burgundy dominate in the upholstery. The walls are a dusky assortment of color.
It’s a lush and heartening space. I sigh. It’s beyond perfect. Papa will think so, too.
The translucent tip creates a huge viewport that makes up the entire nose of the vessel. Intricate detailing has fashioned large, magnificent arches on the see-through acrylic. Wow.
“Same view downstairs, miss. Control room’s directly below us,” calls out the mechanic.
Built into the wooden wall cabinets by the seating area is an absolute rocking multimedia and communications system. Several antique framed pictures hang beside it, and charming accessories are dotted all around. A lavender armchair stands by bookcases—one of which remains stocked with the previous owner’s private book collection. I can’t believe it.
I’ve spent forever getting told off for opening books at the London Markets just so I can smell that addictive smell. Antiques—and books especially—are far too expensive to ever hope to buy. But now I can sit in the lavish chair taking in the dreamy scent of pages from my own books, and Papa will stand in the tip of the vessel, gazing out. I glance around and sigh.
“Batteries under there.” Deathstar points to a hatch in the floor. “Not to worry, though, the Navigator knows where everything’s stored. That reminds me, they’re waiting for us. Need to press on! There’s another storage area, a room for any crew and staff, two small-scale bathrooms, two compact bedrooms, and the main bedroom,” the mechanic explains as we move on. “But I’m afraid there’s no time to inspect any of them now.” He brightens as if he’s suddenly remembered something. “I think we can quickly squeeze in one of its surprises, though!”
The twins and I exchange quizzical expressions, grinning. Deathstar winks and points to a twisty staircase that leads even higher. I climb the stairs. Though there are only a few, they wind out of sight.
I turn the corner and a platform comes into view. It’s enclosed by a clear dome all around and above it, allowing a 360-degree view of the surroundings. Oh wow. A tiny room at the top! There isn’t enough height to stand, but two or three people can sit, watching the world go by.
The mechanic calls out. “Sorry, but they’re becoming restless, must go.”
We climb down the winding iron-and-maple-wood staircase to the lower level.
Deathstar points left. “That way’s the reactor and the engine room. Triple backup systems, I’ll have you know.” He beams as we hang on to every word. “Plenty of time to learn all about that later, and now this way.”
Theo pauses beside a door with a window and whistles. “It has its own airtight chamber? Yes. Leyla, you have your own moon pool!” He punches the air.
I can’t believe it. I peek through the window. It’s a wide room, quite bare and sleek. Robotic equipment is attached to the ceiling. On the floor in the center is a huge door covering the moon pool. Once the room is pressurized with enough air, the door to the pool can be opened onto the ocean remotely, with the greater pressure inside stopping the water from getting in. Submersibles will be free to enter and exit the submarine. I shudder at the thought of descending into the wild through the opening.
“That’s right,” the mechanic confirms. “Not pressurized at the moment, though; it isn’t cost-effective unless she’s out there. Want me to set it up?” He turns to me, his eyebrows raised.
I stop tracing the row of copper bolts around the edges of the doors and swallow before I speak. “Yes. Whatever you need to do to have the submarine fully operational.”
Thank goodness for the prize money; I’ll need it all. I swiftly avert my gaze to protect my thoughts. It’s getting harder to keep them contained.
“Understood. Right, your submersible’s having its last checkups and will need powering up before handover, but I can confirm it’s running smoothly.”
I now have my very own submarine and nifty submersible. I’m dreaming!
Deathstar briefly runs through the main changes he’s made renovating and updating the vessel. He’s an utter genius, and I tell him so. His face goes crimson against the silver piercings.
“No worries, you earned it.” He beams. “You were something out there. And working on this beauty’s been a dream come true. Always wanted to buff up one of the Wrights, and the donor left a generous sum for the job. Okay, we need to head in.”
The control room is at the end. The hovering camera isn’t allowed in.
Theo whistles as we enter, his eyes shining, and runs over to the busy panels, checking the displays. I try and note as much as possible. It’s a sleek and uncluttered space. Dials of all kinds, flashing lights, buttons, LCD displays, phones, keyboards, speakers. All around us, another means to control everything about the vessel can be found. Theo spots a separate workstation in the far corner.
“High-res forward-looking sonar, the very latest,” a technician busy testing a dial points out to him. “Gives a clear view ahead for at least a tenth of a league, sea conditions permitting, of course.” The dial she’s checking bleeps and she nods, satisfied, and moves on.
The next few hours fly by. The onboard Medi-bot measures all my vitals and a health-monitoring chart is created. My DNA is taken and recorded along with iris scans and fingerprints, each result uploaded into the security system. I request the same be done for Jojo. I’m tested on my driving knowledge and offered a training program I can undertake anytime.