She didn’t want to alert whatever bastard was in there by having the mechs swarm him, and couldn’t risk the haul by flushing the tank.
She lifted one of the noose-poles from the wall and approached. She waited for Arva or Polly to warn her if there were firearms, but all she heard was Arva shifting her weight, ready to jump to her defense.
With a single motion, she kicked open the lid of the tank and shoved the pole into the algae until she hit resistance. Then she yanked the loop tight, locked it down, and pulled.
David was in the doorway, waiting to raise the alarm; she was surprised he’d followed her into trouble.
The kid she dragged out of the muck couldn’t have been more than twenty. His neck and one wrist were cinched tight in the loop, and he was coughing and flailing in a way that didn’t suggest a hardened soldier.
She yanked once, hard, so his free hand flew to his neck. No tattoos.
“You have five seconds before I drown you,” she said. “Impress me.”
“I’m unarmed,” he sputtered. “I’m here under duress. Don’t kill me!”
He could choose his words, she’d give him that.
“Here to do what?”
“To retrieve something.”
Jacoba froze.
“Oh shit,” the kid said, “you found it.”
“Were you part of it?” She tightened the noose.
“No!” He squeaked as the metal dug into the back of his neck. “I’m Vestal!”
“So why did they send you?”
He didn’t answer—he’d gone white, eyes rolling back. Jacoba scrabbled to loosen the noose before he died.
Self-control was a process; sometimes you had a hold of yourself, and sometimes you had to work for it.
When she glanced up, David was gone. She hoped he’d been gone a while; this wasn’t something she ever wanted him to see.
(She should compare notes with Hyun about the difference between thinking you’d kill if you had to, and standing over a body.)
“Why you?” she asked again. His face had more color under his wet mat of hair, but the glassy look lingered.
“Because I fit,” he gasped, more air than words.
Jacoba fought the urge to look around—there wasn’t time to think about whatever hull breach they’d made. Something was worrying her more.
“Why not just board us? Don’t the Minervans have mechs?”
“They’d have to use ours,” the kid said, and showed a mouthful of teeth when he grinned. “Vestal mechs outclass theirs. Their home mechs are just tanks on legs.” His voice was all grim pride. “They’ll be lucky to figure out how to keep their balance in ours.”
Spoken like a mechanic. Jacoba loosened the noose.
“How long do we have?”
He flexed his fingers, gulped for air. “They gave me five minutes—to find it quietly and get back.”
To avoid swarming two ships in two days, she guessed, but five minutes wasn’t much time.
“Before what?”
Something slammed into the ship so hard it knocked Jacoba off her feet.
Chollima slammed his arms down to keep balance, and Polly braced her arms against the ceiling to stay upright.
After a second of waiting for more unwelcomes to drop into the cargo bay, Jacoba realized she was wrong.
They wouldn’t attack from the cargo bay forward. Too risky.
They’d hit the bridge and work their way back.
There was no way to get a mech through Coppelia’s cramped corridors, and no way she could hold her own otherwise.
She released the noose and pulled it free of the kid, who was so surprised that he froze, shoulder-deep in algae.
This is how you get taken hostage, she thought.
“Move it,” she snapped, and he scrambled out and didn’t fight her when she dragged him over to Arva.
He glanced at the pilot pit with an appraising look.
“You wish,” she said, and knocked him on the shoulder so hard that he went face-first into Arva’s plasma chamber.
He jerked backwards. “You’re kidding.”
“I’m going to open the cargo bay,” she said, already jogging to the airlock. “By all means dive, if you think you can swim to land.”
She pulled the switch, and the cargo bay lights flashed red for the countdown.
When she turned, Arva was behind her, and the kid was folded in the storage tank, hands braced on the hardened plasma, looking like this was the worst day of his life.
Jacoba grinned and scrambled into the pit.
If she and Arva had to have a farewell job, it might as well be something exciting.
Polly wailed a plaintive note as the first hatch closed, a sound swallowed up by the opening of the outer hatch and the sound of the ocean below them.
Jacoba threw out her arm, and Arva caught the edge of the door and swung up onto the hull.
The Minervan ship had crowded them tight—by the time they could reach the bridge the ships were ground so tightly together that Arva didn’t couldn’t break into the Minervan ship without damaging Coppelia, too.
She’d have to separate them and then take her chances.
“Hey,” she said, “where’s the equilibrium circuit?”
There was a muffled sound from inside the storage pod that sounded unhelpful.
She slammed a foot to the floor, wincing as Arva did the same and sent a shudder through the hull under them.
“Don’t make her spit you out,” she called.
“Halfway up,” the boy said. “Through four feet of hull.”
But that was probably just a floor panel away from the inside, and the hull in the cargo bay was bound to be easier to crack—the boy had gotten into the Coppelia that way.
“Cargo bay?”
“Behind us,” he said. “Low door.”
Arva turned and lumbered along the top of the hull. If she could get in and knock them sideways, the others would have some breathing room to fight back.
(She couldn’t imagine any of them having given up and died already. Shahida wouldn’t allow it.)
They were halfway to the cargo bay door when it slid open and three mechs stepped onto the hull.
Jacoba had never seen a Vestal mech in person. As it turned out, they were tall and lithe and seamlessly fashioned, from the expressionless helmets on their shoulders to the articulated fingers that turned into fists when they caught sight of her. They moved smoothly, better than human as they moved to flank her.
They were terrifying.
But if fear could fuel her, so could anger.
She planted Arva’s talon feet wide-legged on the hull of the Coppelia, stretched Arva’s thin fingers as far apart as they would go, and braced herself.
The first one moved in alone—she wondered if it was a trap or if they were waiting to see if she was even worth the fuel.
Then it held out an arm, hand bent forward to make room for a gun barrel.
Jacoba snapped her right arm up, and from her periphery she watched Arva’s dozen-jointed arm fly forward, the fingers’ pincer tips whipping against the barrel.
The Vestal mech staggered and its arm swung backwards as she heard the familiar pop and thud of a joint locking.
That happened when you operated mech you didn’t know—too nervous, not listening to the controls.
The Vestal mech tried twice to bring its arm down.
Then it gave up and charged.
Jacoba dropped them to one knee. Arva struggled to balance with the new center of gravity, but she managed.
“That’s my girl,” Jacoba said, and Arva said, Yes.
One of the flanking mechs grabbed her ankle and yanked hard; Arva’s standing foot gave way, and her body skidded two feet along the hull.
“You’re going to kill me!” the kid shouted.
Jacoba twisted in the pit, trying to see out the top of Arva’s lid. Arva’s foot was twisted in its grip, the taloned toes scraping against its hand.
“Feet,” J
acoba said.
Arva’s flippers, thin sharp sheets of metal, sprung outward, and over the sound of the mesh shrieking along the hull of the Coppelia, there was a rain shower as the mech’s severed fingers pinged against Arva’s leg.
Arva twisted away without being told, lurching back upright and swinging from side to side to keep all three of them in sight. Jacoba could feel the strain of the battle in the hanging movements, as if Arva wasn’t sure how much longer her frame would hold.
Now they were crowding her, moving fast to knock her right off the edge of the ship into the water.
By all means, she thought. We might actually survive a water fight.
Arva must have understood, because before Jacoba could direct her, her fingers were gripping the ankles of the two closest mechs, and Arva braced, pushed backwards, and fell.
As if in slow motion, Arva floated down the side of the Coppelia as the two mechs lost their footing, arms straining to catch them at the last second. The one with the locked arm fell hard, and Jacoba tried not to be pleased.
Then it was the smooth drop of them falling the four hundred feet together—Arva loosened her hold, and Jacoba just had time to shout, “Watch—” before they hit the water.
Arva was so large and so dense that they never slid into the sea like a human would; instead, they fell into water that bowled out around the impact, and had a full second of air before the sea swallowed them, crashing shut above their heads and catching them in crosscurrent.
Arva and Jacoba knew this. The others didn’t.
They also knew that if your arms were close to your body, you could reach under the turmoil and sink free of it in that crucial second.
The kid was panicking beneath her—she could feel his feet as he tried to kick free of the only thing keeping him from drowning.
“Where’s the oxygen tube?” she shouted.
He froze. “Are you kidding me?”
“You want a brine atmosphere in there?”
“Between the shoulder blades,” he said, and kicked the floor under her a little pointedly.
Arva was already pushing off under the disturbed water, taking advantage of the tiny current to sweep up and behind the mech with only one working arm.
But she was still half-blind from bubbles, and she was suddenly slowing as if tangled, and before Jacoba looked up she knew that the other mech had Arva gripped tight, and was reaching down to rip off the lid of the pilot pit to drown her.
From Arva, there came an aching, No.
Something landed in the water.
The third mech joining his friends, Jacoba thought grimly. Overkill.
But even as the bubbles crowded her vision, the mech’s hand disappeared, and she heard the crunch of metal and a triumphant sound muddied by the water.
It was Polly.
Ruth had come for her.
Jacoba and Arva twisted back and away, and caught a quick pointed finger from Polly that meant Chollima and Hyun were above them, against the third mech.
The mech with the jammed arm had wrenched it free, and even though the gun barrel was broken, it seemed more than ready to explore other ways to kill her.
“Move,” said Jacoba, and Arva sliced through the water.
The mech met them halfway, and in the rush it got hold of Arva’s left arm and twisted.
Arva squealed. Below Jacoba, so did the creep.
“Override,” ground Jacoba through gritted teeth, and felt Arva going slack along the controls.
Jacoba waited an excruciating moment longer, as the mech pinned Arva with one arm and fumbled with its free hand for the plasma chamber. It was labored—the mech wasn’t meant for water. She had three seconds, maybe.
Jacoba calculated, tensed, and threw the punch.
Arva’s right arm boomeranged around the mech’s shoulders, pinched tentacles lending it speed underwater, and forming a point sharp enough that when Jacoba brought her momentum to bear, Arva’s speared fingers punched right through the back of the mech.
“Arva!” Jacoba shouted, and she felt Arva’s responses kicking in, spreading and looping the fingers in the ways Jacoba couldn’t mimic.
But when Jacoba made a fist and pulled, Arva knew what to do.
The mech froze for a moment—Jacoba guessed the pilot was hoping desperately that it could be mended.
But tubes and wiring had come loose and were floating like jellyfish threads; the water was clouding from oil and bubbles were trailing from the oxygen hose, and Arva shoved free of a mech that suddenly had graver concerns.
For a moment the mech curled in on itself. Then there was an all-too-human burst of panic as the mech gripped its own helmet, where a throat would be.
Then the mech went slack all over, waiting on orders that were never coming.
Jacoba set her jaw against her pounding heart. Just because it was necessary didn’t mean she cared for it; just because she was willing didn’t mean it was easy to see.
Then she turned, and Arva spun carefully to face the skirmish behind them.
Polly was pulling her fist out of a dent in the other mech’s helmet that had knocked the dome concave nearly to the shoulder. There was a faint ribbon of pink snaking out of a crack in the metal, and its grip on Polly was slackening.
But Polly had suffered damage, too—Jacoba saw that one arm was wrenched out of place, and inside her plasma storage were some punched-through panels.
But Polly and Ruth were still standing, and they had come to her aid.
Jacoba wanted to ask if the Captain and David were all right; she wanted to ask about what had happened, and who had the drive now, and if they knew who had taken over the Vestal ship and why; she wanted to be able to say something that could come close to expressing her gratitude.
Instead she flicked on the comm and said, “Any ideas how we get back up to the ship?”
Ruth laughed so hard and so long that it took the Captain two hails before Jacoba heard her.
The Vestal ship was gone by the time Ruth and Jacoba reached the surface. It was only Coppelia hovering in the air now, casting a welcome shadow on the water.
By the time they had been hauled back up to Coppelia, Hyun had already maneuvered Chollima into the cargo hold. He was the worst for wear—their mechs had no advantage in battle on land—and one of Chollima’s legs was torn badly enough that someone would have to rebuild it from scratch.
Me, Jacoba thought, but who knew anymore.
Polly deposited Ruth and rested heavily on her good arm, letting the other dangle without weight.
Arva nearly spat Jacoba out, for which Jacoba didn’t blame her.
Arva actually did spit the creep out.
Hyun, who was rubbing his right shoulder, froze and frowned. “Did—did you and Arva just birth a kid?”
“This is…” Jacoba stopped.
“Marcus,” said the kid. He was curled in the pose of a patient hostage, breathing heavy and white as a sheet.
“Marcus. He’s a Vestal. The Minervans who took the ship sent him to look for the data drive.”
Ruth and Hyun exchanged glances.
Jacoba added, “Which I am assuming is no longer here.”
“They tore up the war room for it,” Hyun said.
“And the bridge?”
“They both made it,” said Hyun, “but David was pretty beaten up by the time I could comm them.”
Jacoba’s lungs seized. She’d imagined that David would have met the strangers as they came, with the drive already in hand, looking to deal.
“Why?”
Hyun shook his head. “Don’t know. Thought he was on the other side of this whole thing. Now I just know not to bet against him in a knife fight.”
“Well, I’ll show this one to the Captain,” Jacoba said. “Then I’ll do what I can for these three. Come on, creep.”
Marcus rose, looking at last a little hopeful that they weren’t planning to murder him where he stood.
At the doorway, Jacoba turned. “Did
the Captain tell you what she’d told me, about the drive?”
Ruth and Hyun glanced at each other.
“Yeah,” Hyun said.
Ruth shrugged. “We figured that only applied until the attack. Here’s hoping.”
Hyun crossed his fingers and winked.
The bridge was a smoky mess, and Jacoba stepped over a body on her way inside.
The Captain’s console had been gutted, and there were two or three other consoles bleeding wires. The Captain stood at the navigator’s console, looking out at the water far below them.
“Authorize override with voice authentication,” the Captain was saying. Jacoba heard the mournful undertone of someone whose mount had betrayed her.
As soon as she hit the doorway, she was looking for David. He wasn’t there; was that better or worse?
Shahida didn’t turn. “How bad are they?”
“All three with damage,” she said, “but fixable.”
Shahida glanced over her shoulder. “And this one?”
“Marcus,” Jacoba said. “Vestal refugee from the ship.”
“Then as soon as David clears out of the war room,” the Captain said, looking the kid up and down, “Marcus and I have things to talk about.”
“He was sent under duress,” Jacoba clarified. “He was instrumental in the fight.”
Marcus looked over in surprise.
“I’ll keep that in mind when I’m deciding whether or not we throw him into the sea,” Shahida said.
“Captain,” Jacoba said. It wasn’t true. If nothing else, they’d need the extra set of hands patching up Coppelia so they could head for port. They could pitch him over the side after he’d been useful.
“Get David out,” said Shahida.
Jacoba was glad to have the order. (She and David had limits that never broke. He was wounded, and she wouldn’t have gone in on her own.)
David was on the table, surrounded by a carpet of broken glass and torn-out wires, and gazing up at a hole right through the hull big enough to drop a person into.
There were several long cuts along his arms, and one shoulder had a knife wound deep enough that Jacoba fought the urge to cover his hand with hers.
His eyes were half-open, and when she came into his line of vision they narrowed further.
“Everyone make it?”
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