Ganymede (40 page)

She lifted an eyebrow. “Practically answered your own question, there, didn’t you?” Then she sighed, and said, “I’ve worked entirely too hard these last few months, planning and plotting, and buying every favor I can scare up to get this damn thing out to the admiral. I’m not going to sit someplace warm and dry and safe while the last of the work gets done. I intend to hand this craft over myself, and shake the admiral’s hand when I do so. This was
my
operation, Andan.
Mine
. And I’ll see it through to the finish.”

A million arguments rose in Cly’s mind, but he knew better than to voice any of them. Ignoring all the obvious reasons she ought to stay where she belonged, he said, “All right, then. But you’ll have to fight Rick and Wally for a seat. Seats are few and far between on this bird. I mean, this fish.”

“I know, and I don’t mind.”

“Suit yourself.”

“I always do.”

“I know,” he said almost crossly. “Just stay out of the way. And don’t forget,
I’m
in charge. If you’re in my ship, you follow orders.”

“I gave you this ship. Or I got you into it, at any rate.”

“But you hired me to pilot it, and if I’m the pilot, I’m in command.”

“No one’s arguing with you, dear.”

Houjin was back at the hatch, delivering a blow-by-blow of what was going on up top. “The hose is sticking out next to the scope. It’s pretty quiet, but it’s sucking down the air. Can you feel it over there?” he asked in the general direction of the vehicle’s far right end.

Wallace Mumler wasn’t standing there anymore, so he shrugged. Josephine approached it and waved her hand around the vents beside the unlatched hiding spot where the tube was unspooled. She declared, “I can feel it. It’s blowing just fine. Plenty of air’s coming in, and since the hatch is open, I can assume we don’t need to vent anything.”

Mumler told her, “No, ma’am. The level’s holding fine—and we aren’t moving up or down, so all’s well from that end. Give it another minute or two, and we’ll head back out.”

“Josie, you said something about Barataria. What’s going on over there?” he asked. He had an idea, but he wanted to hear something certain. Had it already begun? Had Hank Shanks launched an offensive so quickly—taken it from rumor to action in the span of a few hours?

“Pirates,” she confirmed his hopes. “A bunch of them, swarming like bees who’ve had a rock thrown at their hive. They’ve mounted a rally, and they’re raising hell. Maybe they can’t take back the whole bay, but they’re bound and determined to reclaim the big island.”

“Glad to hear it!” he said with more enthusiasm than he’d meant to.

“Don’t get too excited on their behalf just yet. Word out in the Quarter says they’ve bitten off more than they can chew.”

He frowned. “Really? You don’t think they can take it back?”

“I don’t have any idea. I know precious little about the bay these days, or the people who inhabit it. Besides, there’s a curfew—hadn’t you heard? The chain of gossip would run a little smoother if the goddamn Texians hadn’t been shutting down the Quarter.” As she said the part about the
goddamn Texians,
a strange look crossed her face. Like she was reconsidering something, or reevaluating it. But she continued, “The important thing is, it’s good news for us.”

“You think?”

“The Rebs at the forts will almost certainly head out to help Texas, so the way downriver will be clearer than it might have been otherwise. Fewer eyes watching, and even if anyone sees us, it’ll take them half of forever to recall their forces. We’ll be in the middle of the Gulf by the time they can rally any response.”

Cly turned away from her, revisiting his seat at the captain’s chair. “This is all worth knowing, but there’s been a change of plans. We’re stopping at one of the canals. We’re cutting through it down to the…” He trailed off.

Fang shot Cly a look that no one on earth but the captain could’ve read. The look was fleshed out by a smattering of signing.
You’d better lie to her
.

And until that moment, Cly hadn’t even realized that this had been his plan all along. It was as if he’d been deluding himself so successfully that the truth hadn’t dawned on him until he was confronted with adjusting it. But this
had
been the plan, hadn’t it? Ever since he’d first heard that the bay had been taken, and that his fellow unlicensed tradesmen were planning to take it back.

Fang didn’t blink, and didn’t look away.

Cly returned his attention to Josephine and said, a bit too brightly, “Anyway, plans are made to be adjusted, aren’t they? We’ll work it out as we get farther downriver. We’ll have to stop in the canal’s general vicinity to top off our air and fuel supply, anyway. From there, we’ll see how it goes.”

“Andan, I don’t like—”

He interrupted before she could go on fretting about protocol. “We’re sitting inside an advanced military machine like nothing the world has ever known. This thing is armored from top to bottom, and it’s armed to start a war, or stop one. This is just a detour. Nothing’s going to slow us down.”

She frowned and gently bit her lower lip, an old habit of hers that Cly had forgotten until he watched her do it again. It made her look younger, or maybe it only reminded him of when they both were young. “If you understood exactly what I’d risked, what I’d compromised to bring this about—”

“It wouldn’t change a thing,” he assured her. “You did such a great job that the rest of this will be smooth sailing. The hard part’s already out of the way.” He approached her and put his hands on her shoulders, forcing her to look up at him.

She did, and she told him, “Maybe you’re right, but we won’t know until it’s over and we’re on board the
Valiant
. But I hope we get to stand on that deck, so I can turn to you and tell you that you were right all along. Just get us there, Andan. Get this craft to the Gulf. I don’t care what it takes, and we are
not
taking the canal.”

“Stop worrying.” He might’ve said more, but Troost came back down the hatch. Shortly behind him came Deaderick Early, moving slowly but resolutely.

Josephine extricated herself from the almost-embrace and went to her brother, about whom she was still allowed to worry. “Rick, you’re not looking well.”

“I’m getting stiff as I heal up, that’s all. You worry too much.”

Cly let out a laugh that sounded like a cough, and changed the subject before she could accuse them of ganging up on her. “Everyone get back to your places. Josephine, find someplace where you can hold on—this thing jumps and dives like an otter. Someone turn off that generator, if we have the air to keep us alert and alive for the next run?”

“All right,” Troost said. He looked less ill, but still not altogether well. He went to the generator switch and turned it off, then pulled the lever to retract the air circulation hose. “Where’s Mumler?” he asked.

“Right here,” Mumler announced himself as he came down the ladder. “Is this everyone?”

“Looks like it,” Cly confirmed.

“Then I’ll close up the hatch and call us ready to set sail. Or set screws, or start charges, or whatever this thing does. Goddamn,” he grunted, as he turned the wheel to seal them all inside. “They’ll need to invent a whole new lingo for boats like this.”

Josephine stood in front of the window beside her brother. She appeared to be transfixed by the scenery, dark, swirling, and largely undecipherable though it was. “I’m sure sailors the world over will be up to the task. Or airmen,” she amended the sentiment, flashing Cly a look of honest gratitude that gave him a pang of guilt.

He already knew that this wasn’t about to go as smoothly as she’d hoped. He didn’t have any intention of telling her while there was still some trouble she could make about it, and he didn’t yet know how Deaderick or Mumler would handle the news that their detour at the canal would be more extensive than expected, so he didn’t say anything about it yet.

For the moment, though, he didn’t have to. He only had to get
Ganymede
back into the river and as far as the canal. What he’d told Josephine off the top of his head was correct: It couldn’t go much farther than the canal without needing its air circulated anyway, so it was a good excuse to pull over when the right place was located.

When all was in order once more, the craft shoved off, its propulsion screws churning at the rear, and the ballasting fins and pumps all working in accordance with the hands and feet of Cly and Fang. Troost called out degrees and directions, helping to adjust their course. Mumler kept an eye on his watch, Houjin kept his eyes plastered to the visor scope, and Josephine kept an eye on her brother—who watched his own reflection in the window, since there was little to be seen on the other side of it except for the black vortex of the river at night.

This time the launch was easier, and better controlled.
Ganymede
dipped hard only once, and swung left to right like a dog shaking its head for only a few seconds before Fang was able to steady it.

Josephine gasped and clutched at the wall, then sat down along it, only to stand again when the peril was past.

“It was worse the first time,” Troost assured her. A small burp escaped his lips, but whatever else was tempted to come up stayed down.

“You’ve got it under control now, though, don’t you?” Anxiously she regarded Cly, who nodded and cocked his head toward Fang, who did the same.

“Don’t worry about it, Miss Josephine!” Houjin chirped. “They’re getting the hang of it!”

In approximately half an hour, much to Cly’s relief on several levels, the offshoot to the canal came within spotting distance on Houjin’s scope. He announced, “Port Sulphur is dead ahead, up on the right.”

“Veer eight degrees south,” Troost called.

As if she already suspected something was amiss, Josephine said, “Wait. But we decided we weren’t taking the canal. There’s too much trouble out at the bay. We’d already decided.”

Cly almost fell into a very old pattern of explaining that
we
had not decided anything;
she
had decided something, and that was not the same as a consensus. But he didn’t. Instead he said, “We have to run the air tube up, Josie. May as well pull over where it’s safe, or safer than any old spot along the river.”

A series of taps up topside announced that their escorts either hadn’t gotten the message about Josephine’s decision, or they were prepared to ignore it in favor of a good docking spot. Either way, the tapping against the hull by the poling boaters backed up Cly’s assertion that they were, in fact, stopping.

“I don’t like this,” she said.

“Sorry. But I like having fresh air to breathe, and the rest of these fellows do, too. We’re stopping, Josie. We’re putting up the air hose, and we’re freshening up, and then we’re headed back out again. I’ll get you to the Gulf, I swear to God. But you’re going to have to trust me, just this once.”

  
Fourteen

Josephine fumed to herself about the stopping point, but there was little to be done about it. The captain had made his decision, and the crew was willing to go along with it; so nothing she could add or argue would mean anything to any of them.

Never mind that this was
her
operation to start with. She was the one who’d arranged it, top to bottom. He had no right to overrule her.

It wasn’t that Cly was wrong. He was absolutely correct, and the air should be circulated on the half hour, as prescribed by the engineers. It was his insistence on being in charge, and the infuriating way that
this
stop—this one hidden docking spot, of all the hidden docking spots on the full expanse of the Mississippi—was the one closest to the greatest threat.

Josephine hated few things more than changing a set plan, and her plan had changed all over the place. No one had asked
her
if she thought a stop at the canal was a good idea. And now no one would listen when she told them there were better places, safer places, and that their change of plan must absolutely be reversed for the sake of the entire operation.

But what would she know, anyway? She was only the one who ought to be in charge.