Tasya interrupted her.
“Tell me you didn’t ask him that.”
Katya found that if she didn’t tell Tasya that, she had nothing to say at all. Her mouth opened and closed a couple of times.
“Stupid little girl,” said Tasya and ran after Kane.
Katya watched her go. She felt wretched. She couldn’t even manage to be resentful. Tasya was right; she was just a stupid little girl. She had no idea what she was doing. She walked over to where they were already patching the Baby. Uncle Lukyan looked over at her and frowned.
“Are you all right, Katya?”
“Yeah,” she replied, not feeling anywhere near right at all. “I’m fine.”
The work progressed rapidly. The laser-cut holes in the Baby’s hull were neat and hadn’t gone through any vital systems. Her electronics were sealed against water anyway, so the flooding of the compartment was of little consequence. After an hour and a half, Lukyan was sitting in the pilot’s seat and running a diagnostic test. Katya watched the Judas box light green apart from a few ambers further down the board.
One of the pirates had pointed out that, as their vessel had recovered the Baby it was technically theirs by salvage right. Lukyan had told the pirate he was wrong on two counts. Firstly, Lukyan had never abandoned the vessel but had still been aboard when it was picked up. It was therefore never legally salvage. Secondly, and more telling to most of those listening, Lukyan had offered to tear the ribcage out of anybody laying claim to his boat. The pirates collectively agreed that these were good arguments and renounced their claim.
“Will she swim, Mr Pushkin?” asked Petrov from the aft hatch.
“She will, lieutenant,” replied Lukyan. “She’s quite well considering what she’s been through. Is that IFF device wired in properly? Then let’s try it.” He reached over and flicked a switch that started feeding power to the cannibalised drone component. Nothing obvious happened. “Hmm,” grunted Lukyan, “if this thing only works when the Leviathan sends an interrogation signal, how do we know it’s working properly beforehand?”
“We don’t,” answered Petrov. “If it isn’t working, we’ll find out soon enough.”
Lukyan looked up at the patch over one of the laser holes. “That’s comforting.”
“Glad to be able to put your mind at rest.”
“So, who’s going on this fool’s errand with me?”
Petrov didn’t argue with Lukyan volunteering himself. “As few as possible. You’ll pilot, we’ll need Kane for his special knowledge and one or two FMA personnel along to keep him honest.”
“With respect, Lieutenant Petrov,” said Tokarov, “you shouldn’t go.”
“Oh?” said Petrov, who clearly had been planning on doing just that.
“You’re acting captain here. You can’t just hand off command because you’re curious to see inside that thing.”
Petrov pursed his lips; he knew very well Tokarov was right but that didn’t mean he had to like it.
“Besides,” added Tokarov, “my specialisation is engineering. I’d probably be more use.”
“All right, all right,” said Petrov wearily, “you’ve made your point. You’re going.”
“I’m going too,” said Katya. Both lieutenants looked at her with surprise and Lukyan started to open his mouth. “I’m still the Baby’s navigator. She needs a co-pilot and, short of Sergei just wandering in, I’m the only other person here with hours logged on her.”
She neglected to mention that the vast majority of those hours were simulator time, and she was grateful that Lukyan didn’t point that out. Instead he said, “She’s right. She’s crew.”
“It’s dangerous,” Petrov said directly to her. “The chances are that this plan won’t work. I’d give it a 40% chance of success at most. Nobody would think any less of you if you don’t go.”
“I’m going. I’m crew.”
Petrov heaved a sigh of exasperation. “Breed them awkward in your family, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes,” smiled Lukyan.
The waiting was by far the worst part. Between the excellent training of the Novgorods and the ingenious jury-rigging of the Vodyanois, the last of the repairs proceeded far more quickly than would have seemed reasonable, but time still crawled by for Katya. She passed back and forth itching either to be seaborne or to back out of her insistence that she go. She knew Petrov was right; nobody, not even her uncle, would blame her if she dropped out. It wasn’t as if the short trip around the mountainside even needed a navigator. “The pride of the Kuriakovs” her grandmother had called it, speaking of it half as if it were something glorious and half as if it were a curse. Right then, it felt very much like a curse; Katya had the uneasy feeling her pride was about to get her killed.
And then, with the abruptness of a shot, the work was done and the Baby was being rolled into one of the smaller locks.
Kane had come back with Tasya. He looked drawn and upset still, and wouldn’t look at Katya. That was fine by her; she felt she should be apologising for something but she wasn’t sure what it was. Whatever the problem, she couldn’t quite bring herself to look him in the eye.
She took her position, Lukyan his, Tokarov sat behind him and Kane behind her, just as he had — it was hard to believe — only just over twelve hours before. The main lock door closed behind them and the chamber started to flood. “Here’s where we find out if the welds will hold,” said Tokarov with an attempt at gallows humour. He found no response and settled into the same silence as the others.
The water boiled and frothed on the other side of the main port as the level rose, the crew and passengers watching it without comment, past the level of their eyes and over the top of the plasteel port. Kane looked up and watched the small dorsal port grow dark as the water rolled over it.
“Sonar to passive,” said Lukyan. After a moment he repeated it.
“Eh? Oh!” Katya reached for her control board. “Check.”
“Wayfinder… offline, I think.”
“Check.”
They went through the same sequence they had a few hours before, when life was a great deal simpler. They worked down the list until Lukyan came to, “IFF transponder.”
“Ah,” said Katya uncertainly. “It’s powered up and that’s about all I can say for it. I don’t know if it’s actually working.”
“Good enough, I suppose,” said Lukyan.
“Yes? In that case, check.”
“Check list complete.” He toggled open the radio link to the FMA ensign who was at the dock controls. “We’re set, I think. Open the lock doors, please, son.”
“Opening external lock doors,” replied the ensign in the crisp tones they taught at the academy for making voice transmissions clear. It always sounded a bit theatrical to Katya, as if the speaker was on stage declaiming Chekov or something. “You’re clear to depart, Pushkin’s Baby.” A moment later he broke protocol by adding, “Good luck.”
Lukyan smiled wanly. “Thanks, control. Going to radio silence. RRS 15743 Kilo over and out.” He closed the link as the Baby lifted from its landing skis and nosed her way out into the open sea. They were on their own now.
CHAPTER 10
Medusa Sphere
The Baby travelled around the mass of the mountain keeping the vertiginous slopes to the right. It was very quiet aboard; after a couple of attempts at humour, even Tokarov had shut up. Now there was just the hum of the boat’s impellers running through the hull and the quiet whirr of the ventilators.