by Gregory Mone
If you weren’t sitting at that point, you’d be thrown back against the wall.
Most people hated this part.
Kaya loved it.
As the train accelerated, her whole body was pulled backward. She couldn’t even turn her head to look out the window, and in less than a minute, the train reached its top speed. The strange pull on her body eased, and as the train raced forward, she fell into a dreamless slumber. She awoke as her seat swung around to face the rear. That way, your head was pressed back against the seat as the train slowed to a stop.
“Next and final stop, Edgeland,” a conductor announced.
Hurriedly, Kaya pulled out her pad and reviewed Rian’s directions. Then she was off the train, up the dirty and grimy station stairs, and out into the dank, crowded city. Music blared from different directions, the tunes and drums clashing. Someone was playing the Narwhals. She winced. People shouted from the windows of ash-covered stone homes. A sonic weapon buzzed. Sirens roared.
She could see no glittering glass. No gleaming towers.
This place was vile.
Disgusting.
Loud.
She’d never been anyplace like it in her life, and she absolutely loved it. Even the smells! The people, the homes, the stinking heaps of garbage and clumps of rotting seaweed and fish bars lying in the streets—the smells were horrid. But they were so real and raw. Towering metal columns rose from the city streets to the ceiling high overhead. She’d read about these—they were meant to prevent Edgeland from collapsing in on itself like its former neighbors. She shivered at the thought of all that rock and water dropping down.
This kind of thinking wasn’t helpful. Kaya had to look strong and sharp. Like a local. Not some wide-eyed, terrified kid. Her backpack was annoyingly overstuffed. She adjusted the straps, steered her eyes back to the ground, and hustled forward. In a dark alley she stopped to check the directions again. Her heart was racing. Relax, she told herself. Relax.
She strapped into her gravity gear, swung her bag onto her back, activated the drive, and pushed off. But she hadn’t risen far when a powerful hand reached out of the darkness and clasped her ankle.
“Get back down here!” a voice roared.
A thick-lipped man had both hands clamped around her ankle now. Whistling, Kaya dialed up the power in the drive and kicked at his hairy knuckles.
“Give me the suit,” he growled.
Desperately, Kaya stomped on the man’s face. He grabbed his eye and loosened his grip just long enough for her to plant her foot on his head and push off, up and out of his reach. The gravity drive was still on high. She soared away from the alley, nearly smashing into a rusting sign jutting out of a wall. The man was screaming at her. But she was clear. Free. She whistled again, dialing down the power, then pushed off the rock wall.
Hovering over the crowded city square, she slowed her breathing. Focus on the plan, she told herself. Follow the waterway south out of the city: That’s what Rian’s directions said. But which one? Waterways flowed in from all directions, each one packed with boats and ferries.
The man from the alley was storming through the city square, pointing in her direction.
She had to get out of there fast. One of her gravity gloves had a built-in compass, and after checking the needle, she found a waterway heading south. A thin, jagged divider of dark stone ran down the middle, and the water on either side flowed in opposite directions. She drifted down and through a wide opening in the cavern wall.
The air in the tunnel was warm, thick, and wet. Water fell from the ceiling in steady drops. The passageway narrowed, and soon it was only wide enough to carry one lane of boats in each direction. As Kaya drifted, she passed only a few vessels. Not many people traveled out this far. She was at the border of the city.
The edge of Atlantis.
Before long, the waterway fed into one of the largest aquafarms she’d ever seen. Mostly kelp and algae, she guessed. But the ripples and waves in some of the pools suggested plenty of fish were raised there, too. The ceiling was hidden behind thick mist. The water below was greenish and still, the air salty, and the distant walls of the wide cavern glittered in the faint blue light. There were some boats, too, and half a dozen farmers scattered around the edges of the pools, tending to their underwater crops. No growling thieves here, thankfully. She hovered in place, breathing, watching the water.
Her nerves calmed.
Her pulse steadied.
The water settled her spirit.
She’d made it this far.
She could make it to the surface.
The waterway crossed the aquafarm, leading into a tunnel at the other end. Rian’s directions mentioned a border station at the far side of the waterway. No one could go beyond that point, and his uncle had suggested avoiding the station, anyway. She turned right instead, following a path along the western wall of the enormous farm. A walkway just above the water wrapped around the wall, and scattered trading posts lined the path. Fishermen brought their catches here to be sold and shipped to the cities. The pungent smell of one of the storefronts suggested it was a warehouse for drying kelp. Thankfully, Rian’s directions didn’t send her to one of those spots. They indicated the post wouldn’t be far, and they were right. She could’ve walked if she’d liked. A small sign overhead read DARKWATER TRADING COMPANY.
This was the place. Kaya drifted to the entrance and dropped down onto the wide path.
In the water behind her, a single small boat was tied to the jagged rock ledge of the walkway. Beneath the sign, a doorway led into a narrow tunnel. She switched off her gravity drive. Her shoulder brushed the wet wall as she walked through the doorway, and after a few steps, she found herself in a low-ceilinged cave. The room was cold—the water from the deep, she guessed. She could feel the chill on her skin.
Inside, a wide darkwater pool took up most of the space, spilling out onto the stone floor. Three small submarines were tied to the edge of the pool, and the walls were lined with wheeled tanks, each one filled with fish of all sizes and shapes. There were some kinds she’d never even seen before.
Two chairs were propped against the wall beside the entrance, facing the cold black water. Both were empty, thankfully. But a blue light glowed beneath a door to her right. Was someone in there singing? Yes, and not very well, either. She probably didn’t have long before the owner of that boat outside popped out and demanded a bribe. And sure, she had the coins, but why not save them?
Kaya found a recess in the wall, a kind of hiding place, and slipped inside to change into her dive suit. Carefully, she pulled off her backpack, unrolled the suit, laid it out on the floor, then switched it on. The material hardened and expanded. Kaya kneeled and poked at the sleeves and helmet. Both solid as the stone beneath her feet. Yet once you pulled it on and started moving, the suit was as flexible as a soft shirt. The technology was amazing. She had nothing to worry about. So why were her hands still shaking? Why was her heart hammering?
The inside of the suit was roomy, so she kept her backpack and gravity gear on—that way, she wouldn’t leave any evidence that she’d been here. Once she sealed herself into the suit, it quickly filled with oxygen, allowing her to breathe. She jumped in place a few times. No leaks. Everything was working. And the door was still closed.
If she was going to go, now was the time.
Kaya shuffled forward and stood over the black water.
Just another swim, she told herself.
She’d tested this suit a few dozen times.
Only two days before, she’d swum across one of the largest deepwater pools in Atlantis. Sure, she’d never actually been outside the ridge, but was there really such a difference? It was all just water. She knew water. And the suits were built to withstand the pressure and cold.
The door behind her opened.
A vile, large-nosed monster of a man stepped into the cave, adjusting his sagging pants.
Kaya waved with her gloved hand, then turned and dov
e into the water.
6
Denizen of the Deep
The subsphere was large, but the living space was tiny. The rooms were spread out and connected by skinny hallways. There was one bedroom with two bunks. Lewis tried to claim the top one, but Hanna said it was hers. Whatever.
While he was very, very happy to find the bathroom, it was so small he couldn’t even stretch his arms out all the way. The subsphere also had a kitchen with a tiny fridge, a microwave oven, two short stools, and a table that folded down from the wall. The cabinets were stacked with cans of food. Peaches, pears, beans, soups. All kinds of miniature meals. The insides of the cabinets were magnetized, so once a can of food was empty, you could throw it against the door from the hallway, and it would stick there.
Or that’s what he guessed, anyway.
He would never try that.
Of course not.
That would be childish, and he was twelve years old, named after a famous explorer, and on a very serious mission to discover a hidden world. Lewis definitely wouldn’t draw targets on the magnetized doors and come up with a game that involved removing three cans from the mix and trying to hit the three separate targets with them in as few tries as possible. He certainly wouldn’t pretend to be a circus worker and invite imaginary contestants to play, either.
Nope. Not him. Never.
When he wasn’t not playing imaginary games, he explored every inch of the sub.
Mission report? Boredom was unavoidable.
Thankfully, he’d packed the soccer ball. His dad’s wristpad had a few decent games. Oh, and he was going to Atlantis! The last he’d heard, they were cruising a mile below the surface of the sea. A mile! The sub was built to withstand the pressure of the deep, and they were going deeper all the time.
After lunch on their first day, he found his dad alone in the cockpit. Something was bothering Lewis, something he wanted to discuss with his father. He moistened the end of his pinky finger and stuck it in his father’s ear.
A half-full coffee cup went flying across the cabin.
A few apologies and a quick cleanup later, he got to his question. “So, about Mom. What if she thinks we’re . . . you know? We have to send her a message somehow.”
“I know, I know,” his father said, wiping up the last of the spilled coffee. “It’s terrible. I feel horrible. But we can’t risk it. Not yet, anyway.”
“But—”
“If we dispatch a signal too soon, the Coastal Patrol might be able to track us. And if they find us, they’ll stop us.” He spread his arms wide. “All this will be for nothing.” His father took Lewis’s head in both of his giant hands and sighed. “But I understand, Lewis. She needs to know you’re safe. She deserves to know. We’ll get her a message. We will.”
“When?”
“Soon. A few days at most.”
His father patted him on the shoulder, smiled, and spun back around. His mom would be okay, right? They’d tell her soon. He had to trust that his father knew best.
Later that afternoon, Lewis was practicing soccer, kicking and receiving with his left foot, when Hanna stopped nearby and leaned against the wall. “I can’t believe you actually brought that.”
“I always bring a soccer ball with me.”
He passed to her. The ball bounced off her foot and rolled to a stop.
“Are you any good?” she asked.
He considered telling her he was the next world superstar, a rare combination of grace and strength. Instead, he opted for the truth. “I’m okay.”
“I don’t do sports.” She pointed at his shirt. “You’ve been wearing that since yesterday. Did you pack clothes?”
“Some.” He had an extra T-shirt, but this one wasn’t quite poisonous yet. He had one extra pair of socks, too. He’d already washed the muddy one in the bathroom sink and found a great place to hang it to dry. He was fine on underwear, too. He only had one pair, but if he was careful, that could easily last him a week.
“A toothbrush?”
He had been planning to steal one from his dad. “Well . . .”
“Your dad didn’t bring one, either. Lucky for you, I always pack plenty of extras when I travel. I was at a sleepover once a few years ago and three different girls used my toothbrush. Just the thought . . .” She squirmed.
“How do you know three different girls used it?”
“I ran DNA tests on the saliva.”
She said this with a shrug, as if it were obvious.
Lewis started kicking the ball against the wall again, switching to his right foot. Hanna didn’t leave.
“How do you know my dad?” he asked.
“I listened to one of his lectures online a few years ago. I was finishing college—”
“College? You’re my age.”
“Three years older than you, and yeah, I’m kind of smart. Weird smart. I started college when I was twelve and finished when I was fourteen. I’m in graduate school now, studying engineering.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah, nothing’s really that hard for me, brain-wise, so I like a challenge. I learned about what your dad wanted to do and figured I could help him.”
“Why?”
“Honestly? My parents.”
“Your parents?”
“I can never please them. Not even close.”
His mom would probably shoot fireworks out of her ears if he were that smart. “But you said you graduated college at fourteen.”
“My mom was done at thirteen.”
He thought about this for a moment. The thinking got him nowhere. “I don’t get it. What does helping my dad have to do with you and your parents?”
“We saw him on-screen one night—some documentary about conspiracy theories. My parents were saying how he was a fool . . .” She stopped herself, then winced. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s fine.” The kids in school had called his father worse names.
“So I heard them talking,” Hanna continued, “and even though your dad had already lost his university job, he was way more interesting than my other professors, and I thought, this is what I need to do! You know that feeling when you finally figure out what you’re meant for?”
“Nope.”
“You’ll get there. I decided I needed to help this guy. Granted, I’d already been obsessing over submarines and deep-sea exploration, so our planets kind of aligned. My parents were furious, too, so that was good.”
“So you built the subsphere to annoy your parents?”
Hanna paused. “I’ve never really thought of it quite like that, but yeah, I guess so. Is there a better reason to do anything in life? Anyway, I started working at your dad’s lab. Not that shack down by the shore, though. We just put that together recently. I’m talking about the real lab, the one that burned down.”
Sure. Totally. The real lab. He’d never been invited to that one, either. And she got to work there? Whenever Lewis asked if he could help, his dad insisted that he had to work alone. Was Lewis just not good enough? Not smart enough? He kicked the ball hard down the hall. “Why did he let you help him?”
“Well, I had a cool idea for a submarine. And there’s one other small matter.”
“Yeah? What’s that?” Lewis asked.
“I’m rich.”
This wasn’t a huge surprise. She had a house AI. But she didn’t look rich. Her clothes were torn at the knees and elbows. Her shoe was taped together, and she didn’t even have a wristpad. The only tech she wore was one of those music rings on her finger, the kind that only played and recorded audio. “How rich?”
“My mom helped invent the wristpad.”
Oh. Whoa. “You’re serious?”
“I’m serious.” Hanna moved closer, lowering her voice. “Listen, this thing with my parents, trying to annoy them and all . . . that’s part of the reason I came to find you. I was listening earlier, when you and your dad were talking about waiting to let your mom know you’re alive.”
> The ball rolled back toward Lewis. The submarine was diving gradually, tilting forward. He stopped it under his left foot. “Okay . . .”
“Well, I just want you to know you’re idiots.”
“Idiots?”
“Emotionally,” she said. “No offense.”
“None taken?”
“Me, too. I’m an idiot, I mean. What if my parents get back early? The AI’s not going to convince them I’m home if they’re actually there. They’re going to panic. Your mom’s probably panicking right now. We can’t make them all wait, Lewis. I might have issues with my parents, but they’re my parents. I don’t want to torture them. Not like this, anyway. We have to get messages to them as soon as possible to let them know we’re safe.”
Lewis lifted the ball with his right foot and began to juggle.
She was probably right.
Of course she was right.
He stopped at five.
“You think we can talk my dad into it?”
“We don’t have to. He doesn’t have to know,” she said. “There’s an emergency communications float. We can load a short message on there, then send it to the surface to broadcast. But I’ll need you to distract your dad for a little while so he doesn’t know I’m sending it.”
A distraction? Lewis thought about this for a moment. “I could dance.”
“Are you serious?”
Partly. He was a very distracting dancer. The chicken dance was his specialty, with his bent elbows as the wings and his chin jutting forward to the beat of a real or imagined song. But Hanna didn’t seem keen on this plan, and he wasn’t really in the mood to demonstrate. The chicken dance was difficult to do on command. “No, I don’t know. I just said the first thing that popped into my head.”
“What’s your second idea?”
“Yoga?”
“You know yoga?”
“Not really.”
“You’re not very good at this.”