Becca tracked Ethan in a bumping crawl through the LR5’s narrow entrance passageway. It was a poky rescue submersible and much smaller than Dora. Becca scanned the utilitarian interior. It was designed for short journeys back to dry land, and this one, at a guess, was over twenty years old. She caught Ethan scowling as he took in the bare metal seats with thin foam pads and wall-to-wall archaic-looking switches and lights.

“Shit.” His breath condensed in hazy puffs.

Becca refused to allow the bubbles of fear loosening her muscles to gain the upper hand. She stared at Ethan. This was it. Whether it worked or not, this was the only way home.

She balanced on her tiptoes and kissed him softly on the lips. “I love you.”

His reply was gruff. “Tell me later. On the surface.”

Becca steeled herself. She was a realist. “There might not be a later.”

“There will be.” He clasped her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm, his eyes unreadable. “I promise.”

He released her hand and boosted himself one-armed into the pilot’s seat. He reached above his head and began the engine ignition sequence. “Strap yourself in. We’re going for a ride.” He swore under his breath. “Practically clockwork.”

Becca clambered into the co-pilot’s seat and clipped on her harness. She gripped Ethan’s knee, the thick muscles of his thighs providing her a modicum of comfort. She’d take all she could get.

“Okay, say a prayer.” He hit the starter button.

Becca squeezed her eyes tightly shut so she didn’t need to look at the black wall of ocean pressing against the front viewport. The sound of her agitated breathing was too loud in her ears. “Something should be happening now, right?”

Ethan released a litany of impressive expletives. He ran his fingers over the controls once more, reciting the launch sequence. “I don’t understand. According to diagnostics, all engines should be firing.” He slapped the console with the flat of his uninjured hand.

Smooth tones filled the frigid space. “Dr. Johnson, you should be advised that I am requesting all personnel remain within the Geo-lab.”

Aimee.

Ethan stared wildly at the ceiling. “What?” He rounded on Becca. “Is that Aimee?”

“Ethan Carter, I regret I cannot allow you to leave.”

Becca released her harness and jerked to attention, screaming at the ceiling. “Aimee. You piece of shit. You let us go right now.”

Becca waited for a response, blood pounding, her vision clouding at the edges. This was not happening. She clenched her waist with rigid fingers, her vision narrowing to the dead engine’s control panel. “Aimee, that is an order. Do you understand? As commanding officer of the Ceto habitat, I am ordering you to allow us to disembark.”

“I’m sorry, Dr. Johnson. I am unable to do that. I am sure you understand. In accordance with Company Directive 51, I am unable to let you leave.”

Becca unlocked the hatch. “You can take Directive 51 and—”

“What are you doing?” Concern laced Ethan’s voice, but Becca was beyond caring. She had business to attend to.

She faced him, her jaw set. “Fucking with Aimee,” she muttered in a low whisper without waiting for his reply.

She re-entered the Geo-lab’s dock and stormed through the dark space straight into the research room where the stuttering remains of the Ceto habitat winked at her from across the ocean floor. The main computer screen pulsed blue and white with the three-pronged Triton Logo.

Aimee.

Ethan’s repairs must have provided a link for her to transfer over when he got the power up and running.

Becca turned. The floor was solid under her feet as she wrenched a squat fire ax from the wall. Adrenalin punched through her veins as she weighed it in her hand.

Perfect.

Becca strode up to the computer. “Are you here, Aimee?” she screamed as she raised the ax. “Did you evacuate too? Did you hustle your electronic ass over here to escape all the fucking bombs? Did you? Did you think they would save you? Once they got what they wanted, they didn’t give a shit about you, did they?”

She walloped the ax into the console, embedding it in the keyboard with a violent crack.

Aimee squawked. “Dr. Johnson!”

“Shut up, bitch.” Becca wrenched the ax free and hammered it into the hard drive again, splintering the casing and scattering circuit boards. Sweat dampened her brow despite the arctic air.

Die.

Becca battered the ax into the circuitry, oblivious to the shrill wail of an alarm. She swung again and again until her arms threatened to dislocate. Finally, exhausted she bent at the waist panting, and dropped the ax head to the floor.

She sucked in a breath. “Aimee?” Becca inclined her head, waiting for the AI to reply but the gutted electrical remains were silent.

She turned and hollered, “Ethan, try the engines now.”

Faint cursing, then a whoop of delight. “Yes, baby.”

Hell, yes. Becca surveyed the damage. The console was a disemboweled wreck.

Just needs a little extra something.

Becca smiled to herself and re-entered the dock. There, she exchanged the ax for a fallen oxygen tank. She lifted it with a grunt, carried it back to the main research room, and propped it up beside the ruined computer innards. She turned the nozzle on the tank fully open, allowing oxygen to hiss into the room.

“For you, sweetheart.” Becca blew a kiss before she turned and sprinted to the mini sub.

She fell into her seat, breathless. “Fucking go,” she gasped.

“Everything alright?”

“Go, Ethan.” She gripped the control dash in front of her.

“Done.” Ethan rammed the throttle and the LR5 lurched forward only to keel violently to one side.

Boom.

“Another depth charge. When are they going to give it up?” Becca gasped. Shockwaves powered through the hull and metal screeched as the LR5 scraped along the underbelly of the Geo-lab.

The engine protested in high decibels as Ethan white-knuckled the helm controls.

The sub plunged, the drop in height firing through Becca’s stomach. She hung on as Ethan pushed the LR5 on, increasing speed despite the drunken angle. “Aimee must’ve told them we’re down here.” Warning lights flashed above her head and an alarm bleated wildly. How much longer before the oxygen catches in the Geo-lab?

“Stern propeller is damaged,” Ethan reported, his whole body leaning into the throttle as his free hand worked the controls, trying to compensate for the altered angle of the battered craft.

BOOM.

Finally.

The mini sub was thrown forward, hurtling upside down as the immense shockwaves of the exploding Geo-lab drove them far across the ocean. Becca gritted her teeth, grim satisfaction sustaining her through the dizzying tumble. Glass dials exploded, showering her with shards as instrument controls jittered. Glacial water burst from a valve above her head.

As soon as the sub righted, Becca unstrapped herself, shaking the glass from her hair. She reached behind her seat and dragged out a long toolbox. With uncooperative fingers, she wrestled with the clips, finally yanking it open and grabbing a wrench from inside. “Ethan, get this heap of junk back to the surface,” she screamed.

She was drenched in seconds as she fought to stem the freezing torrent of water, her fingers instantly numb. She worked the wrench in short jabs and, slowly, the flow eased to a trickle. It was the best she could do in the circumstances. “Ethan!”

“I know. I know. We’re fucking going.”

The submersible shook, throwing her back toward her seat as it took off again, still tilted. Becca scrabbled, trying to clip her harness. Ethan shot out an arm and she grabbed his forearm and used it to secure herself in place while she fastened the safety straps.

“Hang on,” he bellowed.