The room smelled like metal and salt and the electric burn of energy. The container dampened every sound so that even a breath was stifling. None of which seemed to bother Oran; he moved to a control panel, fingers grazing the switches affectionately. Then he spun to Hesperus.

“You’ve pressurized the chamber,” he said with appreciation. “But how did you solve the problem of water pressure?”

Hesperus narrowed his eyes. “Two hulls,” he answered, as though that explained anything. Which, to Oran, it clearly did.

Hesperus quickly oriented them to the mechanics. The ship could be controlled from either end, allowing it to change directions without having to swivel or turn. It could be loaded with four dozen missiles and had a reliable range of fifty yards. Of course, the constant challenge was visibility. Even with the self-repairing glass and flexible maneuverability, if the water was cloudy, there was little to be done about navigation.

“What about lights?” Nettle asked, already perched behind the small wheel at one end. “How long does their power last? How deep have you taken them?”

Hesperus paused in his explanations, his expression caught between annoyance and . . . was that fondness? It was as if, in spite of himself, he couldn’t help but be impressed by Nettle’s gumption. Caledonia could certainly relate to that, but this felt like something more.

“Lights are controlled here,” he said, reaching above her head to flip a series of switches, illuminating the dark bowl of the cove ahead of them. Which was somehow worse than the darkness that had existed there a moment earlier. “At full charge, each ship can travel four hours at top speeds. And we’ve taken them to a depth of seventy feet. They’ll go deeper, though.”

“Hmm,” Nettle answered in the most critical way possible.

Hesperus loomed over the girl, drawing Caledonia closer. “If you had better ideas, you might have stayed to implement them.”

This brought a flush to Nettle’s tan cheeks, the paler scrollwork of her scar standing out against it. Her eyes darted between Hesperus and Caledonia, mildly alarmed, but not for the reason Caledonia thought she should be. She raised her hands in surrender, and Caledonia reached out to snatch her left one.

There, nestled in the soft webbing between her thumb and forefinger, was a small tattoo, the exact match to Hesperus’s own.

Caledonia felt her jaw drop open. “You’re his daughter?”

“No!” Nettle protested.

“Niece,” Hesperus answered. “And a willful one at that.”

“I know I should have told you.” Nettle let her hands fall to her sides, her shoulders slumping. “It’s just . . . I didn’t think you’d take me on if you knew, and your crew—it’s just the most amazing thing I’ve ever been a part of.”