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Haru stumbled over to them, still clutching an arm to his chest. “Go. I’ll watch her.”
Kowalski eyed him skeptically, but Haru hissed him out of the way. Knowing there was nothing he could do for either of them unless they reached the surface, Kowalski crossed to the control station.
The floor remained crooked and drifted slowly in a circle.
“Lost half our thrusters,” Byrd reported. He pointed to where bubbles rolled across one section of the windows. “And we’re leaking oxygen from one of our reserve tanks.”
“Then we head up,” Kowalski said. “After that explosion, whoever’s up there knows someone’s down here. They won’t leave until they confirm that blast killed us.”
“The torpedo,” Byrd asked. “Does that mean there’s a sub in the area?”
“No.” He stared out into the darkness. “It was likely a UUV left in these waters. There could be more.”
Jarrah turned to him. The security chief still had hold of his steel baton. He looked like he wanted to hit something with it. “What’s a UUV?”
“Unmanned underwater vehicle. China tested a few recently in the Taiwan Strait. They can autonomously patrol a region. Once they detect an enemy in their zone, they close in and fire a smart torpedo, which will fix on any cavitation, chase it down, and blow it up. Luckily, those torpedoes are usually smaller than conventional armaments.”
“And maybe another reason we’re still alive,” Jarrah added.
“Let’s not give them a chance to correct that,” Kowalski said. “We’d better keep under what’s left of the rig. The UUVs are likely patrolling the waters around it, keeping everything fenced in.”
Byrd waved at the large shadow on his sonar screen. “It looks like most of the station is still afloat on top of us. The enemy’s first attempt to sink her failed. She is one stubborn girl.”
“Then let’s go see how she’s faring,” Kowalski said. “Before we run out of oxygen.”
Byrd swallowed and nodded.
“No thrusters,” Kowalski reminded him. “Let ’er drift up on her own buoyancy. We play dead for as long as possible.”
7:30A.M.
Jazz leaned on the doorframe of the control room. Her head pounded, narrowing her vision. Nausea churned her stomach, while her right arm burned like a torch. She used the pain to keep focused.
“You shouldn’t be standing,” Haru warned on the other side of the threshold.
She tried to firm her voice, but it still came out raspy. “If I’m going to die, I’ll do it on my feet.”
She eyed him up and down, noting his broken arm and the dried crust of blood under his nose. She felt guilty forcing him to follow her. He had helped her up and over to the control room as Tethys Tier made their final ascent. She still had Kowalski’s long coat over her shoulders and hugged it tighter around her.
He nodded at her words, her determination. “Very well then. We’ll meet our ends together.”
Byrd called from the control room. “Blowing the last of our ballast. Everyone brace for surfacing!”
A great rush of bubbling rose along the windows. As it did, Tethys Tier surged upward with a heavy heave. It thrust high out of the water. Waves sloshed and washed across the glass as their makeshift submersible rocked drunkenly in the ocean.
Jazz grabbed tight to the control room’s doorframe—not because of the swaying, but because of the view outside. She gasped. Byrd swore. Haru sank down to his knees.
Beyond the windows, the massive ruins ofTitan Station Upleaned crookedly in the water, shrouded by smoke, topped by patches of fire. Its decks—what was left of them—canted steeply. Debris bobbed in the dark water: yellow HOVs, chunks of the pylons’ syntactic foam, shattered boats, glassy pieces of other tiers.
And bodies, so many bodies.
Aghast at the horror of it all, it took Jazz four full breaths before she realized the smoke was not just from the burning wreckage. The morning sky was sunless, cloaked by low clouds. Dark powder sifted in a continual rain, along with fiery flakes. Silent lightning flashed up there. Farther out, cascading fountains of fire dotted the horizons, churning with black smoke. Distant booms rolled over the water in a continuous cannonade.
Movement and a sharper whine drew her attention. A large pontoon boat—painted in blue-and-black camouflage—sped around the wreckage. Shadowy men in battle gear crowded its deck. From its bow, a huge gun pointed toward them. There was no mistaking this as anything but an attack craft.
Byrd shouted from his station. “Engaging all thrusters—or what’s left of them.”
Water burbled outside the window, and the tier retreated across the debris field. It slowly gained speed, but it would never outrun their pursuers. In clear warning, gunfire spattered off the titanium and glass. Byrd ignored the threat and kept them moving faster. The bulk of the station’s burning wreckage slowly receded. They finally bumped clear of the last of the debris.
