We both cock our heads at once when the Kabul slows down considerably.
I get up. “Oscar? Have we reached our destination?”
“Indeed we have. My dear, we are at the venerable former grounds of the antiquated Cambridge University.” He pauses, tilting his head. And then: “There is a message for you.”
“A message? From who?”
“A gentleman by the name of Charlie.”
I frown, exchanging looks with Ari even as I say, “Accept.” Who on earth’s Charlie?
A thin white face appears on the communication screen, wearing a nervous smile. “Hiya. You realize yer cruising through private territory now, don’t you?”
“I’m sorry, I had no idea,” I say. “Nothing came up on the systems regarding private—”
“Where are you headed?”
“That’s none of your business,” Ari comes forward to say.
“Whoa, hold yer horses,” Charlie says, holding his hands up in defense. “Only asking. Wait there. I have to report all unexpected drifters. If yer not here for trading, then—”
“I’m looking for somebody called Bia!” I blurt out.
Charlie frowns, his wispy eyebrows meeting. “You know Bia?”
“Well . . . not exactly.”
What can I say? How much is it safe to share? Papa knew this Bia person, and that’s all I have right now. I take a deep breath. I’m either about to do the right thing, or else I’m about to make a massive mistake. But I have to do something.
I give Charlie my name, Papa’s name, and mention Papa knowing Bia. And then I tell him about our immediate predicament with the propeller.
He puts us on hold for a few minutes.
Though he’s smiling when he returns, he seems a little pensive. “Sure,” he says. “We’ll take a gander at yer propeller. There’s nothing the Johnson sisters can’t fix. Follow the escort.” And then he disappears.
“What es—”
A whole legion of camouflaged crafts materializes in the depths. They move in, lowering from above, rising from the seabed, and closing the gaps to the sides. They’re all circular and compact, and the closest in color to the oceans as I’ve ever seen a vehicle.
Ari’s mouth curls into a sneer. “I don’t trust them.”
Well, of course you don’t, I’m about to say.
But he seems to have good reason right now.
We move on, following the vessels in front. Minutes later, as we pass some crumbling ruins, the submersibles slow and we’re all hovering.
“Why stop here?” Ari stands beside me, hands on his hips.
I shrug. There’s nothing below us. Only a rocky terrain surrounded by the usual fluorescent warning signs. I peer at the unfamiliar seabed.
“The subs below have fallen away. . . . I think they want us to continue descending. But why would they want us to rest the Kabul down there?”
“Don’t do it.” Ari brings his face close to mine. His eyes burn bright.
I stare into them. He really does have the fieriest gaze. Color floods my cheeks.
He bares his teeth. “It’s a trap.”
“My papa knows Bia. Erm, I think. We have to trust them. I’m not crawling around the water an open target. The Kabul has to be able to speed up—God knows where my search for Papa’s going to take me, and it’ll be hard enough, without me traveling in a substandard vessel. Descend, Oscar,” I instruct the Navigator.
How strange . . . The flow of the current here, it shouldn’t exist. It wouldn’t exist if there weren’t anything below to cause it. The pitch-black craggy surface approaches. It looks like a huge field of flattened mountain. A school of coalfish seems unperturbed as they move over it. And there’s no depth-warning signal from Oscar. I wrinkle my brow. What the hell?
The submarine doesn’t halt. It continues to descend.
The water glimmers as the vessel lowers. I straighten. “Oh my God, the glimmer—the ground’s only a projection!”
The seabed seems to swallow the submarine. A vast structure materializes beneath us. Dark and rugged. It looks like one humongous rock. A hiding place.
We’re led to a camouflaged side hatch. All around us are open waters. I stand in the viewport, wringing my hands. Ari is still, hands on hips, as he looks at me. His expression is cloaked once more; the usual muscle tics along his jaw as his words echo my own thoughts.
“Are you sure we can trust these people?”
“Why the hell have you brought knives?” My mouth falls open. “We need their help. We can’t aggravate them.” Despite the painkillers, my ribs feel sore every time I speak.
Ari hides the knife behind him somewhere, slipping it beneath his dark top. He rearranges the gray blanket-style shawl wrapped around his body. “We don’t know these people.”
I peek inside the Bliss-Pod I’m carrying to ensure Jojo’s all right as we stand inside the Kabul’s bridge, waiting for the hatch to the place to release. When it does, we step through. It secures behind us again, and the inner door opens. Two armed men await us.
Ari stiffens and I press my arm against me to ensure the brolly’s still hanging off it as we enter the building. We’re standing in a huge docking bay, with rows of hatches.
I recognize one of the guys as Charlie. He can’t be much older than me; he’s thin and pale, with fair hair and kind hazel eyes. He smiles at the Bliss-Pod and the sight of Jojo, and steps toward us. I move back. Before I know what’s going on, Ari has him in a neck hold, his face tight and the gleaming tip of his knife pressed against the guy’s throat. My stomach rolls.
“Steady on!” Charlie’s eyes are stretched wide. “The puppy.” He points at Jojo. “Just wanted to see the puppy. We don’t have any pets here.”
Only now do I see that concentrated on Ari’s neck is the other guy’s laser weapon. My heart races. He’s tall and hefty, and wears a permanent scowl.
I turn to Ari, pleading with my eyes. “Charlie was just checking on Jojo. He doesn’t mean any harm.” Don’t do anything stupid, or they’ll hurt you.
Ari shoots Charlie a threatening stare, before putting his knife away. The burly guy, who looks South Asian, steps back, though his weapon is still pointed in Ari’s general direction. He wears a simple iron bracelet on his wrist—the Sikh kara.
Charlie quickly moves aside, rubbing his throat. He offers me a hesitant smile. “Thanks. Bia sent us to fetch you. I remember you now—yer the Marathon champion! Knew I’d seen you somewhere before!” His smile stretches. “You were my favorite to win. You were awesome.”
“Thank you.” I point in Ari’s direction. “And this is Ari. We’re really on edge right now, that’s all. We were attacked. Anthropoids . . .”
Charlie’s brow furrows as he exchanges a swift look with the other guy before turning back to me. “How? Did they get away?”
I glance at Ari; his gaze is steady as it meets mine. I take a deep breath. “We killed them.”
I wanted it to die. I was glad when it did. I swallow the memory away.
“Too bloody right. Sorry you had to go through that,” Charlie says. “Don’t want you worrying while yer here, though. Yer safe as houses with us, and, er, Jas here is always on edge”—he jabs his thumb in the other guy’s direction—“so don’t worry about coming across jumpy.” He grins.