Page 42 of Daughter of the Deep

The crew disperses. All things considered, their spirits seem high. I hope I haven’t led them astray.

I hit the bathroom. I change maxi-pads, take a couple of painkillers and throw up. Today is a great day.

I get back to the bridge just as Nelinha sends the message.

Ester and Top have joined us for the big moment.

Gem fidgets like he’s got a jellyfish in his shirt. Like Ester, he’s one of those people who thinkson timemeansthirty minutes early. It must be killing him that we’re cutting things so close to the deadline.

We wait for a response.

I remind myself to breathe.

I imagine ballistic missiles hurtling over the horizon, zeroing in on our position. I remember the trident-shaped wake lines of the torpedoes that destroyed our school. I picture a full complement of alt-tech sonic fish burrowing through the water towards our hull.

Nothing happens.

Then, suddenly … still nothing happens.

Five more minutes pass. More nothing.

The minutes turn into an hour. Funny how that happens when you put sixty of them together.

The afternoon sun slants through the forward windows. This turns the bridge into an Easy-Bake Oven. Sweat trickles down my neck. Ester’s face is the colour of a boiled crab. Even Nelinha’s perfect make-up is starting to melt. Top finishes his second bowl of water and continues panting like crazy. (I don’t think he understands water rationing.)

Outside, Dru and Kiya man the Leyden cannon. They look miserable in their life vests and tactical gear.

The sea ahead remains flat and empty, except for Socrates, who leads the way like a pilot fish. Occasionally he leaps out of the water, turning as he breaches. He looks back at us with his sideways smile. I imagine him thinking,Come on, guys! If you get blown up or whatever, it’s fine! I’ll be safe!

‘We’re still alive,’ Ester notes. ‘That’s good. Maybe we passed the test.’

I hope she’s right. I was sort of hoping for confirmation, though. A giant glowing smiley face on the LOCUS display would’ve been sufficient. Or confetti. The silence is unnerving.

The sun is just touching the horizon when I order engines to a full stop.

The weather is clear. If there was an island anywhere close to us, we should be able to see it. This was supposed to be our destination. There’s nothing here.

My mouth feels like rice paper.

‘Send the message again,’ I tell Nelinha.

This time, she doesn’t call mebabycakes. Everyone on the bridge wears a grim expression.

The second transmission has no obvious effect.

We float in the calm of the sunset. Out on the foredeck, Dru and Kiya stare to the west, their cannon forgotten.

I curse myself for believing in Dr Hewett’s pseudoscience map. I actually thought I could safely captain a 120-foot training yacht with a crew of freshmen into the middle of the Pacific and find a place that doesn’t exist on any nautical chart.

I think about what to tell the crew. With no food or water, how long can we last? If we put out an SOS, will anyone hear us? Will anybody reach us in time?

I mentally kick myself for not preparing a Plan B. I’ve sentenced us all to death.

‘Guys …’ I’m not sure what to say to my bridge crew. How do you apologize for such a massive failure?

‘LOOK!’ Ester yells.

Directly off our bow, the air ripples. It’s as if a mile-wide curtain of mirrors has been reflecting the sea. Now the curtain shatters.

---