The water reached Clara’s chin.
Elena tilted Clara’s head back with her forearm, her boots sliding another three inches along the submerged coaming. “Julian!
Now! She has five seconds of air left before her nose is under!”
Julian didn’t hesitate.
In retail, when an angry customer slammed a fist on the counter or an armed shoplifter put a hand in their coat, you didn’t panic. Panic made you fumble the combination on the safe. You moved with smooth, mechanical certainty, the way you counted out pennies during a late-night power blackout.
With his left hand, Julian drove the heavy bronze shank of the Master Coaxial Trunk Key directly into the emergency maintenance key-slot beside the airlock bulkhead door.
CLACK-TURRRN.
The internal brass tumblers engaged with the deep, solid thud of a bank vault lock. A burst of sixty-cycle grounding static crackled through the keyway, sending a spray of bright white sparks dancing across the surface of the black water.
