Icebreaker (27 page)

“Reckon so, Da,” mumbled Skua.

Petrel was still a little afraid of her uncle. But she had meant what she said on the bridge deck. There was to be no more hiding. No more scuttling round the edges of the crew. Apart from anything else, the captain was going to need her. After all, how could a boy of silver and wire, however cunningly made, know that Albie was lying? How could he know that Skua was afraid of his da, and that Squid had a warm heart, and that Dolph had loved her mam and was still grieving?

But Petrel knew those things, and a thousand more. Despite her sadness, she grinned at Albie, which surprised him so much that he dragged Skua away without another word.

Gradually folk set about the business of repairing the ship, and the crowd thinned out. When everyone but Fin, Petrel and Third Officer Hump had gone, the boy captain turned to the chart table, his delicate fingers tracing the course that the
Oyster
had followed for as long as anyone could remember, and for centuries before that.

“The man who made me,” he said, “thought that the world would be righted within a hundred years, no more. He thought that by the time I woke, people would have given up their hatred of machines, and be crying out for the knowledge that I carry within me.” He looked at Fin. “But I do not think that is the case.”

A furrow appeared above Fin's blue eyes. “The Devouts still hate machines,” he said slowly. “But the people in the villages— Their lives are so hard. They starve and die young. I believe they would welcome anything that made things easier.”

“Then we must help them,” said the captain, and his finger strayed from the old course and began to trace a new one.

Petrel's breath quickened. “You mean, go north?”

Behind her, Third Officer Hump gasped. “North? Are you
mad
? I mean, north, Cap'n? Is—um—is that wise?”

“I believe so,” said the boy captain.

“The Devouts will try to stop us,” said Fin. “They are everywhere. They are more powerful than you can imagine.”

“So is knowledge,” said the boy captain. “Our expedition will not be without resources.”

Inside Petrel's jacket, something wriggled. Then a rough voice mumbled, “I 'ope you've got backup for this expedition, shipmate.”

Everything around Petrel seemed to grind to a halt. She opened her jacket. “Mister
Smoke
?” she whispered. “But I thought—”

Mister Smoke's silver eyes peered up at her, bright with mystery. “You gotta have backup, shipmate,” he said. “And if no one gives you any, then you gotta build it yerself.”

“Mind you,” said Missus Slink, poking her nose out, “we didn't quite get the hind leg circuits right. You might have to carry us for a bit till we fix them.”

“Um— All right,” said Petrel, not knowing whether to laugh or cry, and wanting to do both at once, because there was more joy in the world than she could ever have imagined.

*   *   *

And so it was that, early next morning, in the pearly light before dawn, when the whole crew had worked together to get the engines going again, and the
Oyster
had forced its way out of the pack ice into clear water, the silver boy gave the order to turn north.

“Are you sure, Cap'n?” asked Third Officer Hump, who was now First Officer.

The captain nodded. “We are going back to the world.”

“We are going to change things,” said Fin, who stood on one side of the captain.

Petrel, who stood proudly on the other side, said, “We're going to find Fin's mam!”

“North it is, then,” said First Officer Hump.

From inside Petrel's jacket, Mister Smoke cried, “Full speed ahead, shipmate!”

“But watch out for those valves,” said Missus Slink. “They're not as young as they could be.”

Petrel laughed. First Officer Hump swung the wheel. Third Officer Dolph—newly appointed to the position—banged out a rattle to Albie in the engine room.

And as the sun rose above the horizon, the ship turned and sailed north, like a bright light heading into darkness.

 

SUNKER'S DEEP

The Hidden series—book 2

LIAN TANNER

 

PROLOGUE

They came to the meeting shortly after midnight, separately and secretly. Professor Serran Coe was the first to arrive, and he greeted the other three with his finger to his lips. Not a word was spoken until they were in the basement, and even then, with the university abandoned above them and a dozen locked doors between themselves and the outside world, they were reluctant to name the things they were talking about.

“Has he gone?” whispered Professor Surgeon Lin Lin, a small, sharp-eyed woman with night-black hair.

Serran Coe nodded and a flicker of regret crossed his face. “Two weeks ago. The ship sailed under cover of darkness.”

Ariel Fetch leaned forward, her long earrings tinkling. “Did you give him the instruction? The one we agreed upon?”

“I built a compulsion into his circuits,” said Coe. “It will come into play when he crosses the equator on the return voyage.”

“If there
is
a return voyage,” growled Admiral Cray, who was Lin Lin's husband.

The others began to protest, but the admiral spoke over the top of them. “Nothing is certain, and you cannot tell me otherwise. I have just learned that five of our best ships were sunk last night, and their officers murdered! By their own crews, mind you, who then deserted en masse to join the Anti-Machinists.” The admiral's waxed moustache twitched in disgust. “This whole thing is spreading quicker than anyone thought possible. There are even rumors that the government is teetering! And what do we four do about it? We run, we hide, we send a mechanical child to the far southern ice, hoping that one day he will return and be compelled to seek out—”

“Hush!” said Lin Lin, and her husband broke off his rant. The building above them creaked ominously.

“It is only the wind,” said Serran Coe in a tired voice. “It has been rising all week.”

The admiral grumbled, “Look at us, jumping at shadows! Why are we not out there fighting the mobs?”

His question momentarily silenced the other three. Then Ariel Fetch sighed and said, “You may be a fighter, Admiral, but we are not. And even if we were, we could not turn back the Anti-Machinists. Their time has come. All we can do is try to preserve as much knowledge as we can, so it is there when people want it again.”

“Pah!” said the Admiral. “They will never want it again! They are fools and criminals—”

His wife interrupted him, “Then you should be glad that we are leaving them behind.”

Her words fell like a blow on the tiny gathering. Serran Coe loosened his stiff white collar and said, “You are going to do it? I thought you might change your minds. It is so—extreme.”

“Extreme, it may be,” said Lin Lin, sitting up very straight, “but I refuse to live under the rule of the Anti-Machinists, and I am not the only one who thinks that way. Besides, the medical papers we are taking with us must be preserved for the future. Even your mechanical child does not know everything.”

“When will you go?”

Lin Lin's calm voice gave no hint of what lay ahead. “Another week, at least. It will take that long to gather family and friends.” She smiled wryly at her husband. “Which means there is still time for a little fighting if you wish it, dearest.”

The admiral took a deep breath through his nose and let it out again. “Nay,” he said. “Nay, you are right. We must follow our plans to the very end. I just hope—” He scrubbed his fists against his knees until the blue cloth crumpled. “I just hope it is worth it.”

Nine days after that meeting, Professor Surgeon Lin Lin and her people left. They told no one where they were going, and no one had time or inclination to ask; the government was on the brink of collapse and the city was in uproar.

Screaming mobs rampaged through the streets, determined to destroy the machines that they blamed for all the wrongs in the world. They smashed automobiles and typewriters, omnibuses and telephones. The police were helpless against them. The army, brought in by the collapsing government, destroyed its own gun carriages and joined the mobs. Everyone else, frightened and confused, barricaded their doors, telling each other that the madness
must
stop soon.

But they were wrong. The long harsh reign of the Anti-Machinists was only just beginning.

 

THREE HUNDRED YEARS LATER

Sharkey squinted one-eyed through the thick, glass porthole. He was searching for scraps of metal—metal that'd be covered in weeds by now and colonized by barnacles, so that it looked no different from the rocks around it. But it was here somewhere, seventy-five feet below the surface of the sea, and he was determined to find it.

“Two degrees down bubble,” he murmured.

“Two degrees down. Aye, sir!” cried eleven-year-old Gilly, and she turned the brass wheels that tilted the little submersible's diving planes.

In the bow, eight-year-old Poddy's hands flew across the control panel, trimming the boat and keeping the direction steady as it sank. Further aft, Gilly's younger brother, Cuttle, braced his bare feet on the metal deck, waiting for orders to change speed. Pipes gurgled. Dials twitched. Above the children's heads, the ancestor shrine maintained a silent watch.

“Ease your bubble,” said Sharkey.

“Ease bubble. Aye, sir!” Gilly turned the wheels the other way.

Outside the porthole, the green light that filtered down from above touched thick strands of kelp and a shoal of codlings. The throb of
Claw
's propeller was like the beating of Sharkey's heart.

He straightened his eye patch and sang the last part of an old Sunker charm, under his breath.

“Below to find,

Below to bind—”

It must have worked, because almost straightaway, he saw something out of the corner of his undamaged eye. “Starboard twenty,” he said.

“Starboard twenty. Aye, sir!” cried Poddy, and
Claw
began to turn.

When they were on the desired heading, Sharkey said, “Midships.”

“Midships. Aye, sir!”

“All stop.”

“All stop. Aye, sir!” And Cuttle threw himself at the motor switches.

Gilly came for'ard, ducking past the periscope housing and wriggling around the chart table. “Have you found something, sir?”

Sharkey wasn't sure, not really. But he always sounded confident, even when he had no idea what he was doing. “Aye. There, where the kelp's thickest,” he said.

Young Poddy hooked her toe under the control panel and leaned back on her stool. “Adm'ral Deeps
thought
you'd be able to find it, sir. And she was right!”

“'Course she was,” said Sharkey, hoping that the strange-looking bit of rock really was scrap metal from the giant submersible
Resolute,
which had broken up somewhere near here ninety-three years ago.

“Has he found the boxes?” called Cuttle.

“Not yet,” said Gilly. “But he will.” She bobbed her head in the direction of the ancestor shrine. “Thank you, Great Granmer Lin Lin. Thank you, Great Granfer Cray.”

For the rest of the morning,
Claw
cruised back and forth through the ropy kelp, while Sharkey stared out the porthole, half-dizzy with concentration.

At the end of the forenoon watch, Gilly struck the bell eight times.
Ting-ting ting-ting ting-ting ting-ting.
“It's midday, sir. We're due back on
Rampart
soon.”

“Mmm,” said Sharkey. “I want to find at least one of the boxes before we go.”

From the helm, Poddy said, “You could ask Lin Lin and Adm'ral Cray where they are, sir.”

Sharkey said nothing. His fellow Sunkers venerated their dead ancestors, but at the same time, they seemed to think that the spirits were like some sort of boat crew, and all he had to do was whistle and they'd come running.

Poddy glanced out the helm porthole. “Look, sir, there's a dolphin! Maybe it's the spirit of Lin Lin! Maybe she's going to show you the boxes!”

Sharkey sighed in a long-suffering sort of way. “Lin Lin talks to me when it suits her, Poddy. So does First Adm'ral Cray—”

The younger children bobbed their heads respectfully.

“—and
that
is just an ordinary dolphin.”

“Oh,” said Poddy, disappointed.

The dolphin swam idly away from them, and Sharkey watched it go. His eye flickered downwards. There was something—

“There!” he said. “Port full rudder.”

“Port full rudder. Aye, sir!” Poddy's small hands brought
Claw
around, as smooth as sea silk.

“All stop.”

“All stop. Aye, sir!” shouted Cuttle.

“Hold us right there,” said Sharkey, and he gripped the lever that worked the retrieval device.

Like the underwater vessel that housed it, the device was called “the claw.” Sharkey pulled the lever back and it ratcheted out from the side of the little submersible and spread wide its talons. It wasn't easy to use with only one eye; Sharkey had to compensate for the fact that he couldn't judge distances as well as he'd been able to before the accident. And he didn't want to wreck the box. Now that he'd found it, he was sure it'd be a good one, crammed full of surgeons' secrets with not a drop of water seeped in to spoil it.

Gilly eyed the chronometer. “We're due back on
Rampart
now, sir,” she said.

Without looking up, Sharkey said, “Send a message turtle. Tell 'em we'll be late.”

“… Aye, sir.”

There was no argument, of course. Discipline on the submersibles didn't allow for arguments. But as Gilly scratched out a note and took one of the mechanical turtles from its rack, Sharkey knew what the middies were thinking.