Free World of Water by James Lovegrove Page B

set off at a mad dash back to the stern ramp.
    The Egersund was struck a third time, then a fourth, a fifth. The whaler was being pierced rapidly and repeatedly and taking on water fast, faster than the sealant injectors could cope with. Dev could feel the ship rolling, wallowing. He and the Marines were going as quickly as they could, given the circumstances. The deck kept heaving this way and that, however, making progress treacherous. You couldn’t be certain your foot would land where you wanted it to. It was like trying to run during an earthquake.
    Yet another blow from the cuttlefish sub sent all five of them sprawling. The Egersund was now letting out a hideous groaning noise. There was a terrifying low rumble as well, coming from deep down inside the vessel – the sound of millions of gallons of seawater flooding in where no seawater belonged.
    Sigursdottir dragged Dev back upright by the scruff of his neck, and the five of them continued running.
    “What does Jiang think she’s playing at?” Francis said. “Why hasn’t the Winterbrook pinged that sub and blown the fucker in half?”
    “Easier said than done,” Sigursdottir replied. “Cuttlefish subs can shift. Anyway, that’s not our concern right now. Getting our backsides off this thing before it goes down is what matters.”
    The last hundred metres to the ramp was a rollercoaster of ups and downs and sideways twists. The Egersund didn’t seem to know what it wanted to do – pitch, yaw, sink – so it did all three at once. Dev felt as though he and the Marines were fleas on the back of an irate mule which wanted rid of them but instead of scratching them off was trying to dislodge them by bucking.
    They threw themselves onto the ramp and slid down, spinning helplessly, flailing, until they hurtled off the end, into the sea.
    The instant he hit the water, Dev felt his under-lids snap into place and his gills flare. He looked around and saw Milgrom striking for the surface with mighty sweeps of her arms and legs. She was toting at least fifty kilogrammes of equipment, but didn’t seem encumbered at all. The other three Marines were swimming upward too.
    A large shape flitted at the periphery of his vision. Thalassoraptor? Not again, surely!
    No, it was something else. Something that was both sea beast and more than that.
    It looked like a huge cephalopod, perhaps thirty metres long, with a smooth conical body covered in mottled markings and a cluster of arms trailing behind its head. It used jet propulsion to move, sucking in and squirting out water through a ventral siphon. A fringe of fine lateral fins helped it steer.
    Yet it was not wholly a living thing. The globes of its eyes were hollow and transparent, and inside each sat a Tritonian. The indigenes were clearly pilots, somehow controlling the cephalopod.
    This, then, was a cuttlefish sub. And as Dev watched, it darted off, so fast it was almost lost from view in just a couple of seconds. A swift about-face, and it returned just as fast, if not faster, to slam into the stricken Egersund with impressive force.
    Rivets popped. Seams split. Yet another fissure appeared in the whaler’s hull.
    Dev, meanwhile, was reeling, semi-concussed by the cuttlefish sub’s impact with the ship. His eardrums felt as though someone had punched them with an awl.
    The bizarre organic submarine wheeled away from the Egersund , preparing to deliver further attacks. Then it seemed to have a change of heart. It came about and coasted towards Dev, manoeuvring with delicate pulses of its fins until it was face to face with him.
    Dev trod water blearily. His head had not yet cleared. He felt stunned and groggy.
    The cuttlefish sub finned a little closer still so that the Tritonian pilots in their eye socket cockpits could get a better look at him. They exchanged glances across the few metres of cephalopod head between them. Photophores flashed, but Dev could not quite make out what was being expressed. Curiosity?