Page 11 of Daughter of the Deep

I give my Dolphins one last order in sign language, tapping my temple with all four fingertips:Be alert.

We take our places. Fifteen of us make a semicircle facing Dr Hewett: Dolphins, Cephalopods, Orcas. The Sharks stand around the perimeter, weapons ready. Gemini Twain moves to Dr Hewett’s side, where he can both keep an eye on me and make clear that he is the dominant freshman.

Ester scratches Top’s ears. He sits next to her patiently, his brown eyes locked on Hewett as if to say,See? I can be a good boy.

To my surprise, Nelinha has managed to wash her face and reapply her make-up. How did she do that so quickly? She gives me a wink, a gesture of solidarity.

My heart hurts. I love my friends so much. I love this entire class, even the individuals I don’t like that much. I hate whoever tore our world apart.

Hewett wraps up his conversation with three HP security guards who have walked over from the pier. I guess they were on board theVaruna, keeping an eye on it until we arrived. They all look shaken. Hewett must have told them about the attack.

For a moment, I’m relieved. At least we’ll have more adult backup.

Then Hewett gives them an order. I lip-read the wordsBuy us time.

The guards nod grimly. They jog over to the shuttle bus. Bernie sits behind the wheel, the engine idling. As soon as the guards are on board, Bernie closes the doors. He gives me a listless wave, his expression part concern, part apology. Then he drives away, shells crunching under the wheels.

Why would Hewett dismiss three perfectly good guards? Why would he send Bernie away, along with our bus?

There’s no longer any school for them to return to.Buy ustimesounds disturbingly like a command you’d give a suicide squad.

This whole situation is wrong. I don’t want Hewett as our only adult supervisor. I remember what Virgil said:He used to teach at Land Institute.

Not to mention his less-than-robust physical condition. The professor’s face is almost as colourless as his droopy mop of hair. I try to guess how old he is. Sixty? Seventy? It’s hard to tell.

I wonder when he taught at Land Institute, and how he ended up here. I don’t know much about our rival school. They follow the same basic curriculum as HP – marine sciences, naval warfare. Maybe LI is slightly more on the warfare side, while HP leans slightly more towards scientific research, but our grads often end up working side by side in the world’s best navies and maritime institutes. The way the upperclassmen talk about LI, you’d think its students are all sociopaths and their teachers have devil horns and pointy tails. I always assumed the upperclassmen were exaggerating. After this morning, I understand.

Hewett gives his tablet a sour look. Then he regards us as if he can’t decide which is the bigger disappointment. ‘Freshmen, you need to understand that this is no longer a weekend trip. This is an indefinite assignment. All of you are in danger, not just Ana Dakkar.’

The others glance at me. Awkward.

‘Yes, yes,’ Hewett says, acknowledging their concern. ‘I will explain once we are out of range.’

He doesn’t say out of range ofwhat.

I look past him. The school’s 120-foot training vessel waits at the end of pier six. TheVarunais the biggest yacht in the harbour by far. I love that it’s named after the Hindu sea god. Usually, when I see its gleaming white hull, I feel proud and excited. Painted on the prow is the HP logo with the four houseicons – shark, dolphin, cephalopod, orca – inside the quadrants of an old-fashioned nautical wheel. The wordsHARDING-PENCROFTscroll below. Today, the sight makes me blink back a fresh swell of tears. The ship is all we have of the academy now.

Hewett continues, ‘I know you have questions …’

‘I do,’ says Rhys Morrow, one of the bolder Orcas. ‘Sir, our families will think we’re dead. We have to contact them –’

‘No,’ Hewett snaps. ‘Miss Morrow, I know this is hard to hear. But, for now, your families are safer,youare safer, if the world thinks you are dead. We must hope that Land Institute doesn’t yet realize this class escaped the attack. If we can disappear before they …’

He glances at his control pad. Whatever blood remains in his face seems to drain away. Gem catches his arm before he can fall sideways.

Gem frowns at the screen. He mutters a question I can hear just fine without lip-reading: ‘Sir, whatisthat?’

Hewett’s eyes have more life in them than the entire rest of his body. They’re incandescent with fear.

‘Everyone on board,’ he says. ‘We need to leaveNOW.’

It’s not that simple.

With a 120-foot yacht, you can’t just turn on the ignition and speed away. Supplies have to be stowed, systems checked, moorings cleared. Over the past two years, we’ve worked on theVarunahalf a dozen times. We know the ship, and we know our jobs. Still, it takes time to get ready.

It doesn’t help that we find ourselves stumbling over equipment we’ve never seen on board before. On deck, several metal crates the size of washing machines have been lashed down and covered with tarps. Belowdecks, the corridors are lined with smaller boxes that look like foot lockers – each fitted with a biometric fingerprint pad and labelledGOLD-LEVEL CLEARANCE.

I’ve seen boxes like these at school, but only from a distance. Usually they’re being transported to and from Verne Hall under armed guard. Whatever is inside is top secret. Only faculty and upperclassmen are allowed to work with them.

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