The Jennifer Morgue - Charles Stross [140]
Looking around the owner’s lounge, I don’t see anything obvious, but the dining room was just up the corridor. I duck out and stumble towards it, shove my way through the door, and what I want is waiting for me under a pile of uncollected dirty dishes. I grab the linen tablecloth, wait for the clatter of crockery to stop, and stagger back to the lounge. Then I whack the display case hard with the butt of my pistol, knocking out as much glass as possible.
Breathe. I catch a glimpse of Ramona, the agony spreading to her lower back. There are burning wires of pain in her shoulders as she scrabbles towards the surface close by the port side of the Mabuse. The air in here is foul, a stench of sewers and decaying, uncooked meat. I shove the pistol in a pocket then take the tablecloth in both hands and drop it across the broken glass and the diorama. I lean forwards—Remember to breathe—and gather it all in with both hands. Then I fumble on the floor for the plastic box containing the tokens that Johanna taunted Ramona with. My hands shake as I finally tie off the corners of the tablecloth in a rough knot. ★★Got it,★★ I tell her.
★★Get the hell out!★★
She doesn’t need to tell me twice. I head for the door, grabbing the MP-5 on the way, and cast around the corridor for the door onto the sun deck.
★★That one, Bob—★★
The daylight glare nearly brings tears to my eyes after the death-stink below decks. I step out onto the deck and walk to the side of the ship, then look aft. In the distance there’s a white trail etched across the wave crests. Breathe. I blink, and see through Ramona’s eyes, looking up at the light from beneath the keel of the frigate. From down here it looks enormous, the size of a city. Run. I weave my way aft, back into the access passage to the boat deck. There’s a crane and boarding steps descending over the side, ending just above a floating platform at the waterline. I take the steps two at a time, nearly tumbling into the water in my haste.
★★Get yourself overboard! Now!★★ Breathe. She can see the grid of the platform, the shadows of my feet on the metal grating.
★★Not yet.★★ I gasp for breath, my vision flickering with the bright sparkles of hyperventilation as I set down the stolen diorama and pull out my phone: 74Km/99% Complete. ★★How do you think we’re going to get onto the Explorer ? Neither of us is in any condition to swim that far, and anyway—it’s moving.★★
There’s white foam at the bow of the huge drilling ship as its positioning thrusters power up. Billington isn’t stupid enough to sit too close while his yacht self-destructs: even if he isn’t afraid of the backwash from the geas generator he’s got to be worried about the fuel tanks.
★★We’ve got to get over there!★★ She’s near the surface.
★★I’ve got a plan.★★ Breathe. I reach down into the water as—
With all her remaining energy she reaches up towards the hand breaking through the silvery mirror-surface above her and—
“Ow!” Water splashes over me as Ramona breaks the surface and grabs onto my hand.
“Plan. What plan? Ow . . .” I heave. Something in my back registers a complaint, in triplicate, then locks up and goes on strike.
Ramona twists round and falls back onto the platform. Out of the water, she goes limp. I can feel her muscles. I wish I couldn’t.
“Look over there.” I point. The silvery trail is curving towards us like a bizarre missile running just above the surface of the water. There’s something that looks like a glassy black sphere in the middle of it, surrounded by four huge orange balls: “It’s my car.”
“You. Have got to be. Kidding.”
“Nope.” I grin like a mad thing as the Smart Fortwo whines towards me eagerly, its hub-mounted air bags thrashing the water into submission. “It may not be a BMW or an Aston Martin, but at least it comes when I call it.” It slows as it nears the edge of the platform. Ramona sits up wearily and begins to peel off her outer-heated wet suit. Her skin is silvery-gray, the scales clearly visible: even the few hours underwater have been enough to cause the change to set