Because you like him. Not at all . . . I hardly know him.
His eyes flicker now, questioning. Always questioning . . . He makes me feel safe. And happy. He makes me feel good.
I like Ari. I really, really like him. My cheeks and neck flush with warmth again. What did Tabby mean when she said, Because he’s noticed you?
I jump when Charlie approaches me, yawning. “What’s his story?” he says, nodding in Ari’s direction. “He’s a bit much, I reckon.”
Ari squints at him from across the large space, and Charlie quickly averts his gaze. He slumps into one of the sofas, stretching his arms above him.
I take a deep breath as I watch Charlie. He might be just tired enough to let his guard down and tell me something of use. Like what my chances are of acting on Theo’s words.
I sit beside him and lower my voice. “I guess you better be off soon, Charlie. I don’t know about Cambridge, but traffic’s a bloody nightmare in London after six—”
“Yer having a laugh, aren’t you?” Charlie grins. “I stay here—have done ever since I met Bia. Even the boss herself doesn’t budge from this place!”
In no time, Charlie’s telling me when and where everyone sleeps.
I’ll never get this close to finding out more about what’s happened to Papa, and—despite wishing I could just hide somewhere instead—I don’t intend on wasting this night.
I bolt up, trembling, and immediately command the light on. My eyes narrow at the strange surroundings. Sweat clings to my face, neck, and chest. I focus on calming my breathing and remember I’m in the Den, at the Trading Post. The quiet buzzing of the alarm still sounds and I switch it off, so utterly relieved now that I’d set it. I was having a nightmare. I was back in the engine room with the thing. This time I wasn’t so lucky; the brolly refused to work.
I shudder and bring my knees to my chest. Remembering why I’d set the alarm for three a.m., I shake myself alert and grab my robe, ignoring the quiver in my legs. I edge the door open, and slip into the main area of the Den.
Low lights blink and beam. It seems to be empty, but I scan every corner, twice. I look around and sigh; where to even begin? I want to search everything, but that would require at least two people. And then I remember Theo’s words to me back in the control room.
I can merge Navigation duties with Housekeeping, kind of like a super-Housekeeper, if you want, Leyla?
Of course! Oscar isn’t only a Navigator; he’s also my Housekeeper, connected via my Bracelet and programmed to be available twenty-four/ seven—no matter where I am!
“Oscar?” I whisper into my Bracelet, and hold my breath.
The Navigator materializes before me. Yes. I set him on silent before he can say a word.
“Oscar, see if you’re able to access their systems. Download any information that might mention Papa. Understood?” The Navigator nods and sets to work.
Meanwhile, I go through everything I can. It’s mostly wipe-boards, so I start on those, trying to decipher all the info scribbled across an entire stack of them, with no luck.
“Oscar? Find anything?” I whisper, trying to ignore the nausea spreading inside.
The Navigator shakes his head and continues scanning their systems. I don’t want to follow Theo’s instructions for snooping unless I absolutely have to. Determined to find info by some other means, I take a long look around the room. A pile of large notebooks catches my eye.
I flick through several indecipherable volumes until I stumble on one where the content is straightforward enough. It’s a thick book with pages and pages about the Explorers and their efforts to find a way for us to return to the surface. Why would they be interested in the Explorers, of all things?
I scan it, half-heartedly. There are copies of reports registered by Explorers over the past decade. Following each report is the official statement released to the public at that time. And . . . the two are vastly different. I straighten, more focused now.
There’s a report from a scientist, Dr. Varsha Patel, dated September 2093, and one of the paragraphs is highlighted:
In conclusion, the commonly cited standard atmospheric oxygen levels of 21 percent do not correspond with my own findings (app. 1c). Despite breathing filtered air, I experienced adverse physical ailments attributed to the environment. The exact levels of the greenhouse gases, including water vapor levels, all proved significantly higher than is widely believed (app. 3c). My equipment was rendered ineffective in a matter of hours due to a violent magnetic storm. Within days I was forced back into the depths with acute sunburn, and—despite my respiratory equipment—my blood oxygen levels were critical (app. 4b). The conditions on the surface are hostile and deadly, and there is absolutely no indication of this changing in the foreseeable future.
The public statement following this report was an entirely inaccurate interpretation of Dr. Patel’s findings:
Though oxygen levels are lower post-disaster, enough oxygen remains in the atmosphere that, with minimum effort and adaptation, could prove more than adequate to sustain human life.
That’s it? The Explorer’s report states the ecosystem is—at best—perilously volatile. And the air poisonous. The public statement has totally ignored the majority of the problems.
I don’t understand it. At all. But there’s no reason to doubt it—both the reports and subsequent statements are completely official. I flick through page after page, but everything I see says only one thing:
All this time, the government has been lying about the findings of the Explorers.
According to the Explorers’ reports, there’s never been even the slightest hope of us ever living on the surface of the water again. Not here in Great Britain—not anywhere in the world.
It’s as if a mighty wave has rolled in, knocking me off-balance.
It can’t be true. . . . And yet there it is.
After all that, all those promises, all the talk about us ensuring we’re ready to return any day, there was never even the tiniest chance of it happening. Not in our lifetimes.
I realize I’m more shocked and terrified at the brazen lie from the government than the possibility of never living up on the surface of the water. I’ve never before bothered to read the monthly Explorer reports, never been interested in following their progress.
But why have they lied? What’s the government really up to?
My legs start shaking. The possible scenarios—and the not-knowing—swirl round and around in my head until I think it might burst. I stumble back.
Straight into somebody’s arms.
A hand clamps down on my mouth and twists me around to face them.
Ari. He jerks his chin to indicate the far corner of the space.
Charlie’s entered the open area; I’d have never spotted him from this angle. Ari removes his hand.
Charlie goes straight to the kitchen and sets about making a warm drink. I dismiss Oscar via my Bracelet. Ari points to the nearest sofa. We cower behind it until Charlie leaves the space. I let out a long sigh.
“Sorry,” Ari says quietly, indicating the hand he’d clamped over my mouth. “I was coming over to you when I saw him. What are you doing? You’re putting yourself at risk.”
I point toward the notebooks, and we make our way over. I finally find my voice and fill Ari in, whispering.