I toss Haskal a book. On the cover is a trigonal bipyramidal molecular structure my brain doesn’t supply the name for. Odd that I instantly knew the structure, though.
“Phosphorus pentachloride,” Haskal says, reading my expression. “We have to figure out how the metal and the coating work together, what the fucking hydroplexasma is made of, and how the hell it becomes invisible underwater.” Haskal flips another book across the table. “If you can think of a better partner for this little project, run along and talk to your boyfriend. But something tells me I’ll be seeing you here tomorrow.”
I comb my fingers through my hair. Seems like our pairing was purposeful, and I’m stuck with Haskal the Asskal. Great.
“Whatever. Let’s just get through this without ripping each other apart.”
His gaze burns hot into my chest. “Oh I’d like to do some ripping, all right.”
Ignoring him, I open the book he flung at me. Two hours fly by with formulas and equations assaulting me from every page. Very few look familiar, except for the ones containing water. Those I identify with ease. Both Kray and Riley seem to think all this chemical information is locked somewhere inside my head. Maybe they also think that by throwing it all at me what’s lost will surface. So far, though, all it’s done is give me a massive headache.
Four more hours, two bathroom breaks, and less than ten words to Haskal later, I’m more than ready to get out of the box Barton put us in to study. I’m no closer to figuring anything out or remembering the junk in the textbooks.
“I’m done,” I say, slumping low in my chair. “Everything’s blurring together.”
Haskal doesn’t respond, so I figure he didn’t hear me or he doesn’t care. I’m cool with either. I push away from the table and head for the door.
“Wait,” Haskal says, stopping me. “Come check this out.”
I groan. “Can it wait?”
“Just come here,” he says, and I reluctantly shuffle over.
Standing beside him, I cross my arms. “What?”
He points to the top page of a stack of military files he’s been filtering through. “This equation, right here. Does that look correct to you?”
I squint as if by some miracle that will help me understand what he’s showing me. It doesn’t. “I give up.”
“Here.” He points to an equation halfway down the page. “They squared the mass, but over here?” He turns the page. “They didn’t. See that?”
I see something, but I don’t know what. “Yeah. Sure. Whatever. Can I go eat now?”
“The formula is unstable,” Haskal says, leaning back against his chair and taking his glasses off.
I frown. “The formula for what?”
“Hydroplexasma under pressure.”
“In English, please, Haskal.”
“It means, sweetheart, that the North Koreans fucked up the formula. Whatever they used to make this stuff, it had to be done under extreme heat, then extreme cold, and back and forth until each molecule fused together into the perfect shape that resists change under pressure.”
I stare at him. Blink several times.
“Water pressure,” he tries, clearly frustrated he has to explain this. He digs through the stack of Navy documents and throws one of the files at me. “Open it.”
I do. The file is filled with diagrams, charts, and more formulas. A few stand out to me, jumping off the page in bold letters, but I still don’t understand what I’m seeing.
“At one thousand feet underwater, there’s fifty-six psi per gallon of water. These torpedoes are—were—designed to withstand a psi point at approximately ten thousand feet,” Haskal says.
“Okay…”
He stands up as if he’s proving a point. His voice rises two notches when he continues, “Nautia, this formula, if calculated correctly, says that’s bullshit. These torpedoes will collapse on themselves at just over six thousand feet underwater, not the ten thousand the North Koreans think. The hydroplexasma will deteriorate.”
“And the torpedo will become visible,” I finish for him, finally understanding. “I guess that’s something, isn’t it?”
“That’s a major something,” Haskal agrees, grinning.
“Okay. So now what?”
Haskal huffs. “Now, we hope the bastards haven’t figured out their mistake and plan to take out Japan before we arrive.”
Riley. I love the way it sounds in my head.
“Close your eyes,” Riley instructs from beside me. I’ve never called him by his first name to his face, but unless I’m training with the others, I’ve taken to thinking of him as Riley instead of Captain Barton.
We’re on the top deck again tonight. With the direct access to the ocean, it’s the best place for me to practice control.
I do as he asks, allowing my eyelids to fall.
“Concentrate on the ocean,” he murmurs, the sound of his voice diving into the pit of my stomach, making his actual directive difficult. “It’s all around you. Alive, and waiting for you to command it.” His body is close to mine, and I can feel the heat pouring off his skin.
The water, I remind myself. Focus on the water.
I sense Riley next to me, but I block him out. I block everything out, except for the sound of the water beneath USS Triton. I let the soft voice of ripples rise up to my ears and filter through my veins like blood, filling me with life. And suddenly, I am alive. The world below and the heavens above open up to me. The thick, humid air releases its hold, allowing me to do with it as I please.
“Got it?” Riley asks. He must see a physical change in me, because he always seems to know.
I open my eyes. “Yes.”
“Bring it up carefully.”
I do it in reverse of nature’s laws because it’s more challenging. I raise one hand toward the sky and hold the other out over the ocean. Slowly, I spread my fingers and rotate my wrist so that my palm turns upward. A small spiral of water lifts from the sea. Higher and higher until it reaches the clouds. The waterspout sits for only a moment before I give my wrist a flick. Then it spins in place. It’s the perfect night for this, because if I do lose control, the weather patterns are not conducive to keeping the tornado alive. The funnel will simply crash back down into the ocean.
“Good,” Riley says. “Circle it around the Triton.”
Yesterday was the first day I maintained enough concentration to make one full loop around the ship. Today, I easily make two.
“Okay, change the rotation.”
I feel the corner of my lips curve upward at his confidence in me. I’m relaxed, I’m in control, and I’m rocking this!
Right now, the funnel rotates clockwise. To change directions, I have to keep the spout alive and reverse its momentum. I’ve only done this a few times, but with water running down a drain, not a tornado out in the middle of the ocean. I’m up to the challenge though.
With both arms extended, I keep the funnel steady with one hand, while with the other, I twist my wrist in a counterclockwise direction. The waterspout obeys and begins its reverse rotation.
I’m elated to have controlled something this large, this powerful, but I know if I break a full smile, I’ll lose concentration, and the twister will fall back into the sea.
“All right, Nautia. Let’s add another.” He whispers as to not distract me. He doesn’t know his voice alone is enough of a distraction. A slight drain of energy whooshes out of me before I pull myself back together. Thankfully, my spout is still rotating.
I give a quick nod of my head, then take a deep breath. The water in the air is already at my command, so springing up another waterspout should technically only take half the effort of creating the first one—in theory, that is. I’ve never actually handled two at the same time before.
I inhale again, keeping the first tornado off to my left but still within si
ght. Left palm down, I split my attention, leaving half with the first twister and focusing the other half on raising another.
Like last time, I spread my fingers and flip my hand to draw the spout out of the ocean. The tornado slithers upward.
“Nice!” Riley comments with too much celebration in his voice, making my heart skip a beat and—
The baby twister crashes back into the water.
“Concentrate,” he says.
I take a soothing breath. Calm down. Relax. Slow your heart rate.
I block him out and try again. Thrusting out my arm, I direct all of my attention on summoning a bigger spout from the water. I know I’m succeeding too, because I have to pull the funnel upward with more strength than I’ve ever used before. Energy soars through my veins, speeding up my heart rate. I’m on top of the world.
“Nautia,” Riley gasps, amazed.
He sees what I see: a twister that’s as wide as the ship. At first, I’m excited. I mean, this is freaking awesome!
Until I realize the larger the twister, the more difficult it is to control. I can’t do both, so I break the connection with the first and it crashes back into the ocean. The need to prove myself overwhelms me, though I’m not sure if I’m doing it for Riley or for myself. I just know I can’t let go of this beast; I have to command it.
Using both hands now, I convene all of my energy on the monster funnel. Move it in a loop around the ship like I did with the smaller one. Beside me, Riley sucks in a breath when it nears the hull.
“Nautia,” he warns.
“No,” I say, cutting him off. “No, I can do this.”
“Push it back, Nautia. It’ll do a lot of damage if it gets too close.”
I listen to his advice, stopping the twister’s momentum. Gently, I pull back my right arm and give a small shove forward. Nothing happens, but already, I feel the energy slowly draining from my body. The massive cyclone is too much.
One circle. Then I’m finished, I tell myself. I’ve been a rock star tonight, and I want to go out with a bang.
I repeat my earlier action, this time thrusting my palm forward with more force than before. Immediately, the tornado is propelled back, away from us.
My lungs hurt as I fight for air. That little trick exhausted me, and black fuzz creeps into the corners of my vision. I can’t stop, though. Not when I’m this close.
“Nautia, let it go,” Riley instructs, his voice calm and soothing.
“No.”
That one word gives me the determination I need to slide the tornado across the halfway point of its trip. Resolve soars inside me, replacing the lost energy.
I rotate my body as I drive the waterspout around the front of the Triton. My muscles ache with each gained foot of distance. I blink back the haze slinking little by little into my vision. As long as I can project all of my willpower on the tornado, I’ll be fine. I’ll cross the finish line.
Around me, the wind picks up, sweeping my hair in a strong gust that shouldn’t exist tonight. My massive twister must have changed the barometric pressure. Is that even possible?
Warning lights flash in my brain. They must be flashing in Riley’s too, because he grabs ahold of my shoulder. “Let go of it, Nautia. Now.” The soothing lilt to his voice is gone. This is a command from my captain.
I know I should listen. Everything inside and outside of me tells me the same thing. Yet, I shake my head in response and continue circling the twister around the ship.
Nate couldn’t control the water, but I am. It’s at my command.
“Do you see what you’re doing, Nautia?” Riley says, his voice rising to be heard over the wind now blowing hard enough to create waves that crash against the side of the Triton. “That thing is growing.”
He’s right. And I didn’t build it.
Panic boils under my skin, and my hands shake in front of me. “I can’t hold on,” I stammer. “I can’t control it.”
“Calm down, Nautia,” Riley says. “Pull yourself together first, then slowly dismantle the twister.”
I gulp in a lungful of air, but it doesn’t help. I’m weak. So weak.
My knees buckle, and I fall, my palms slamming onto the deck. Sirens wail from the command station—the tornado didn’t dissolve when I collapsed.
“TWISTER!” someone shouts.
Riley drops down beside me. I glance at him. His hair is wet, though I can’t feel the rain pelting against his cheeks. I can’t feel anything.
“I’m sorry,” I mouth. Then I pass out.
The water is at the halfway point now, and I’m freezing. Maybe the icy cold will knock me out before it finishes me off. If I’m lucky.
Since my realization that I designed this capsule, I’ve thought of nothing else. Why would I have done this? And for what purpose?
My teeth chatter, and I shiver. I close my eyes, because there’s no reason to keep them open. I can’t see a damn thing anyway, and with them shut, I can pretend I’m not two thousand feet under the surface of the ocean with no way to escape.
I try to not think about anything. Empty my mind as my body settles into hypothermia. Except my brain won’t let me envision nothingness. Nope, even inside my head there’s a vast sea of water. It ripples at first, like water is supposed to do, but then it starts to swirl. Spirals down, down, down, gaining speed and becoming larger and deeper.
The capsule jolts, and my eyes fly open. The metal creaks, stinging my ears. I cringe as the sound grows louder. Panic sets in, and I resort to kicking my legs again, trying to free myself.
My coffin jerks, and I’m thrown against the side. Pain shoots through my shoulder, but I don’t care because the impact somehow freed one of my ankles. As well as I can, I twist and use my untied foot to kick against the rope of other one. I have no idea what good it will do, though dying not tied up seems better than the alternative. At least I’ll be somewhat free.
I feel the second rope break off, and as soon as I do, something slams into the tube, jostling me to the opposite side.
I’m not sure why, because it’s still pitch-black inside my prison, but I peer up through where I think the little window is.
It’s cracked.
I know because I can see it.
Because there’s light coming through.
Since I learned of Trainer Cara’s involvement in TorpMissionOne, I’ve had to work harder to keep it out of my thoughts when around Kray. If he found out, he’d immediately tell Nautia and I’d lose her trust. I need to get all of the puzzle pieces in place. All I have now is speculation, a bunch of blank files, and a handful of classified files I can’t access.
Melene had no more information than what he gave me. Still, his one answer only bred more questions. Had Nate been a part of TM1 under Cara’s command? If so, she knows what happened to him.
I back up because I’m jumping to conclusions. I start with the facts: Cara Prior lead TM1; TM1 happened two years ago, presumably in the same location as where we’re headed; Nate was stationed in the Sea of Japan two years ago. He could have been on a different mission, completely unrelated to TM1. And the chances of that are—
Slim.
To my knowledge, no other Navy ships were in the Sea of Japan two years ago. But mistakes happen, especially with all the damn red tape we have to cut through. Shit gets missed all the time.
I rub a hand over the stubble on my chin as I think. Depending on what happens with Nautia today, I might spend my evening doing research in the Navy’s archives. I just wish I could hack through the security. I told myself a long time ago I’d never use my power to do anything illegal, but right now, I’m kicking myself in the ass for not studying up on how to break into computer systems.
I pull my attention back to Nautia. At least she’s bubble free. Last time, she thought the water was protecting her, but now it’s gone. Does that me
an it’s no longer protecting her? Unlike before when she slept peacefully, her muscles spasm now, and every once in a while, her face contorts into an expression I’m familiar with: fear.
It’s been twelve hours since the rogue twister, and I can probably count on her being unconscious for at least another day. I need to find out at what point she lost control last night. Something changed in her when she’d told me no.
Her fingers grip the sheets at her sides, and she kicks her feet—except, she’s not actually kicking. It’s strange, like she’s trying to move, but invisible ropes hold her ankles down.
“Nautia,” I say low, leaning over her. “Wake up, Nautia.”
Her head tosses from side to side, and suddenly I hear footfalls rushing over. Kray rounds the end of the bed. He grabs her head to stop her from thrashing.
“Nautia!” he yells.
“What’s happening?” I ask.
He doesn’t look at me when he answers. “She’s having a nightmare.”
“Can you hear it?”
“No. It’s behind her wall, but they’re getting more frequent.”
Her face contorts again before she lets out a window-shattering scream. She releases her grip on the sheet and pounds her fists into the mattress. Her whole body convulses, and from above me, small raindrops fall from a newly formed cloud. She’s losing control again.
White lips curve inward and her eyes move from side to side in quick, erratic motions behind her eyelids.
“Has she told you about them?” I ask, searching for some tool to break through to her.
Nautia’s body relaxes, the tension draining out of her.
Kray shakes his head. “She’s told no one. Not even Cara.”
Nautia rolls onto her side, and with one foot, kicks at the other.
“Does she remember them? Like, details?”
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