“All right,” I say, before I can change my mind. “Luca, I will hold you to your promise. You do not get yourselves killed.” I take a deep breath and face Gem. “Gather the crew. Get the orangutan. I’m taking command of the Nautilus.”

Within fifteen minutes, we’re all aboard.

Nelinha gives me a high five before leading the Cephalopods to the engine room. The Orcas lug in crates of food and medical supplies, along with an impressive collection of Jupiter’s cookware, while the orangutan waddles along next to them, signing, Careful with that.

Gem sends his Sharks to the weapons room to make sure our antique torpedoes are secured. Then he follows me and the other Dolphins to the bridge.

Lee-Ann takes dive control. Virgil takes communications. Halimah takes navigation. That’s a no-brainer, since she’s our best pilot. Gem takes the weapons console, though we don’t have many weapons to speak of. Jack stands by as my runner in case ship-wide communication goes down. (Do we even have ship-wide communication?)

I study the captain’s chair.

I’m sure the new Florentine seaweed-leather upholstery will be comfortable. The purple mood lighting around the base is a nice touch. The armrest controls seem simple enough: place hands on globes, hope the Nautilus responds.

But this chair is still where my ancestor died. His body sat there withering for 150 years. This is the central altar in the Dakkar family mausoleum.

I have to make it more than that. I have to make this a living, working ship again.

I take my post. The chair’s padding sighs as it presses against my back.

The flurry of bridge activity dies down. Everyone turns, waiting for my commands. I feel like a little girl playing pretend, the way Dev and I used to do when we were small.

“Nautilus,” I say in Bundeli. (In case you’re wondering, the word is notilas. Huge surprise.) “I need access to all systems, please. Our crew is on board. We’re ready to get underway.”

From the organ comes a soft middle C. Then an octave up, another C joins in, and then an octave below, until it sounds like an entire orchestra tuning itself. The volume crescendos. The hull rumbles. Floor plating vibrates under my feet. Around the bridge, previously dark dials and gauges blink to life.

The organ falls silent.

“Okay,” Lee-Ann mutters nervously. “That was different.”

Nelinha’s voice crackles overhead from a metal speaker shaped like a daffodil. “Ana, you did it! Looks like we’ve got full power. And that red button for super cavitation? It’s glowing now!” There’s interference on the line as she has a hasty debate with her colleagues. “Yeah, I know, I know. We won’t push it.”

“Stand by,” I say. “All we need are basic thrust and depth control.”

I realize I’m not even sure Nelinha can hear me. I grip my armrest control. “Is this thing on?”

My words boom from speakers across the bridge, reverberating through the ship. Thanks a lot, Nautilus.