“Right.” I waited in place for a moment, shuffling from one foot to the other.
“Well?” Val asked, pausing at the door into the docking room.
“Last time I used the spyril, something went wrong. I ended up losing my propulsion in the middle of the bay.”
Val sighed.
Come on, I urged.
“You want me to check it over?” she asked, though it was clear it was the last thing she wanted to do.
I let out a breath. “That would be awesome.”
“Well, go grab it then.”
I ran to get it, noticing, happily, how Val lingered in the sitting room. When I passed the library, Megan glanced out at me—she’d made it that far. I nodded toward Val, held up one finger, and grabbed the spyril pack from the storage room.
I hurried back to Val, then began setting out the spyril’s parts on a couch—positioned so that when Val walked over to look at them, she’d have her back to the door to the docking room. Val went over the spyril’s pieces quickly and efficiently, checking each for scratches, then ensuring that the cords were attached correctly and tightly.
As Val worked, Megan slipped into the room behind us, then eased open the door into the docking chamber. She vanished into the darkness beyond.
“If something went wrong,” Val said, “it wasn’t the equipment’s fault.”
“You look like you know a lot about the equipment,” I said, nodding toward the spyril. “Almost as much as Mizzy does.”
“Come on,” Val said, placing the last set of wires back into the pack. If I’d made any kind of connection with her earlier in the sub, I couldn’t spot a sign of it now. She was back to being cold.
“Val, I really am sorry about Sam,” I said. “I’m sure nobody could ever replace him, but someone has to use this equipment, and someone has to run point.”
“I don’t care that you’re using the spyril. Honestly, how unprofessional do you think I am?”
“Then why are you so terse with me?”
“I’m terse with everyone,” she said, then tossed me the pack and walked toward the docking room.
I grabbed my rifle and followed. Together we entered the short hallway between rooms and I closed the door behind me, plunging us into darkness. From there we crossed and opened the door into the docking room, where we followed the familiar guide ropes that led us to the submarine.
Had I given Megan enough time? Sweating, I waited as Val undid the hatch down into the vehicle. Megan would have had to make her way through the unfamiliar room, open the hatch, then slip in and redo it.
I was given no clues as to whether she’d managed it or not. I climbed down and resealed the hatch while Val settled into the driver’s seat. She turned on the soft emergency-style lights and took us down into the depths.
I glanced back anxiously at the bathroom, but nothing seemed out of place. What followed was a short, tense trip through the darkened waters of Babilar. Val didn’t try to strike up any conversation as we traveled, and though I wished I could do something about the strained awkwardness between us, I just couldn’t manage it right then. Not with the stress of Megan hiding just feet from us.
Eventually Val let us up in the middle of a still, black bay among glowing buildings, none of them too close. We didn’t always use the half-sunken buildings for docking. Regalia couldn’t look everywhere, and so long as we were quiet, a quick drop-off in the middle of a deserted bay could be stealthier than using the same docking stations over and over.
I peeked out through the hatch, inspecting the distant lights, which were mirrored in the waters below. This city was so surreal. Never mind those glows, the phantom sounds of radios playing music in the distance. I still wasn’t used to buildings with so much variety to them—stonework, glass, bricks.
I climbed back down and regarded the wetsuit. Then I reluctantly started pulling off my shirt.
“There’s a bathroom in the back, kid,” Val said dryly.
I glanced at it and found myself imagining being forced into that small room with Megan, pressed against her, somehow trying to change without alerting Val of what was going on. Blushing at the thought, I reminded myself that Megan would probably end up stabbing me or something if we were confined in such a tight space.
I wanted to try anyway.
Unfortunately, my brain seized upon a better idea. Stupid brain. “It looks really cramped in there,” I said. “I don’t suppose you’d mind going up above?”
Val sighed loudly, but she got up from her seat and brushed past me, climbing up the ladder. I stripped down to my boxers and grabbed the wetsuit.
“You don’t look half bad with your shirt off,” Megan noted quietly. “For a nerd.”
I about fell over, one leg into the wetsuit. Megan had slipped out of the bathroom without me noticing. I’d assumed she’d stay in there until I’d dressed, but apparently not. I worked more quickly, trying to hide my blush.
“Nice work, by the way,” Megan whispered. “I was afraid I’d have to ride off with Val, then sneak out on my own. This will be far more convenient. Think you can distract her up above?”
“Sure,” I said.
“For a second,” Megan added, “I thought you were going to be forced into the bathroom there with me. Too bad. It would have been amusing to watch you squirm.”
I left the wetsuit unzipped, grabbed my rifle and the box with the spyril, then gave Megan a glare. She didn’t seem the least bit concerned.
She’s not trapped in our base any longer, I thought. Here there’s only Val to worry about. Megan seemed confident she could deal with that, should it become a problem. She was probably right.
I hiked up the ladder and undid the latch, then set the spyril on the top of the sub before climbing out. I wore the rifle slung across my back, its straps pulled tight. It wouldn’t be easily accessible, but I wouldn’t have to worry about losing it in the water.
Val stood, back to the hatch, watching the city. I walked over to her, then pointed to the unzipped back of my suit. “Little help, please?”
I made sure to keep her positioned away from the opening into the sub. Once zipped, I didn’t look to see if Megan had escaped, but instead put on the spyril. “I have a lot of work to do,” Val said as she passed me and climbed down the hatch. “I’ll be at it for a few hours, at least. So if you finish before then, find a way to entertain yourself. I’ll let you know when I’m ready for you.”
I activated the spyril and jumped out into the water. I didn’t need to worry about my rifle; it would work fine after being submerged.
Val climbed back inside and locked the hatch. I treaded water there for a moment until the sub lowered into the ocean, revealing Megan in the water on the other side, looking wet and miserable.
“N-nice night,” she said, shivering.
“It’s not even that cold,” I said.
“Says the guy in the wetsuit.” She looked around. “Think there are sharks in here?”
“That’s what I keep wondering!”
“I’ve never trusted water in the darkness.” She paused. “Well, I don’t really care for it at all.”
“Didn’t you grow up in Portland?” I asked.
“Yeah, so?”
“So … it’s like a port, right? So didn’t you ever go swimming there?”
“In the Willamette?”
“Uh … yeah?”
“Um, let’s just say no. I did not.” She glanced toward one of the distant buildings. “Sparks. If I get eaten because of you, Knees, I’m never going to let you hear the end of it.”
“At least you’d come back from being eaten,” I said.
“Doesn’t make me eager to try the experience.” She sighed. “So we swim?”
“Not exactly,” I said. I swam over to her and held out my arm. “Grab hold of me.” She hesitantly wrapped her arms around my chest just under my arms.
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With Megan holding on tightly, I pointed the streambeam into the ocean, then engaged the spyril. We rose on jets of water, a good thirty feet in the air. The black, glassy surface of the sea stretched out around us, the towers of submerged Manhattan rising beyond like neon sentries.
Megan breathed out softly, still holding on to me. “Not bad.”
“You haven’t seen the spyril in action?”
She shook her head.
“Then might I suggest you hang on?” I said.
She complied, pulling herself tight against me, which was a not-unpleasant situation. Next, I attempted something I’d been practicing. I leaned forward, turning the jets on my feet backward at an angle, then pushed my hand downward—not the one with the streambeam, but the one with the smaller handjet for maneuvering.
This kept us from toppling down into the water, the handjet giving thrust upward, the ones on my feet thrusting backward. The result was that we shot across the water, the jet on my hand lending us just enough lift to stay aloft. Twenty-seven and a half times in fifty-four, this stunt ended with me crashing face-first into the water. This time, blessedly, I managed it without such indignity.
Wind whipped at my face, the spray of water cold on my skin. I grinned, flying us toward one of the rooftops. Once there, I gave us a burst from below and used the guiding jet on my hand to slow our momentum forward. We shot high into the air, and another spurt of water from my hand nudged us over the lip of the roof, where we landed.
I stood triumphantly, putting one arm around Megan, looking down to see if she was beaming at me in awe.
Instead her teeth were chattering. “So … cold …”
“But it was awesome, right?” I said.
She breathed out, letting go of me and stepping onto the roof. A few people gawked at us from beside a tent on the far side of the building. “Not particularly stealthy,” she noted. “But yes, awesome. And you can stop ogling me now.”
I tore my eyes away from the way her damp T-shirt, underneath her jacket, clung to her skin and bra. “Sorry.”
“No,” she said, pulling her jacket tight and doing the buttons, “it’s all right. I mean, I teased you for looking at other women. That implies I want you to look at me instead. So I shouldn’t get mad when you do.”