The docking procedure was a symphony of groaning metal and hissing pressure seals. The smaller vessel, bearing the wounds of Lagoonia like scars, nestled into a specially designed cradle on the flank of the massive submarine. With a final, resonant clunk that vibrated up through the boots of its occupants, the connection was made.
The hatch opened not onto a dock, but onto the Dreadnought Thalassa's own retracted deck—the Aetherium Terrace—now serving as a cavernous hangar bay. The air here was different. It carried a chill, a sterile dryness that spoke of recycled atmosphere and deep ocean pressures, undercut by the hot, organic scents of machine oil, hot metal, and something faintly petrichor-like, as if from stone that had never known sun.
Bianca and Galit stood waiting, two starkly different portraits of urgency against the backdrop of ancient, impossible engineering.
Bianca Yvonne Clark was a storm of barely-contained motion. Her grease-stained overalls were unbuttoned to the waist, revealing a rumpled floral blouse smeared with what looked like jam. Pencils sprouted from her messy bun like antennae, and her large magnifying goggles were pushed up, leaving a red ring around her forehead. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, her fingers twitching as if mentally recalibrating a dozen devices at once.
Beside her, Galit Varuna "The Young Tide" stood with the coiled, fluid readiness of a reef eel. His modified Lost Coil scout gear—lighter plates of laminated storm kelp and volcanic glass—fit him like a second skin. His emerald-green eyes, sharp and constantly analyzing, darted from the hatch to the shadowy recesses of the bay, his unusually long neck held in a tense, observant curve. The single thin scar down his cheekbone stood out in the low light.
Marya emerged first, the familiar silhouette of her leather jacket and denim shorts a touch of mundane reality against the epic scale. The golden rings in her eyes immediately swept over Bianca and Galit, then past them, searching the gloom. Mikasi, the feathered coyote, padded silently at her heel, his own cunning gaze taking in the new environment. Jelly Squish, opting for a perch, gave a jubilant "Bloop!" and launched himself, landing on Marya's shoulder with a soft, wobbly splat, his azure form jiggling with the impact.
Sanza Kaplan Figarland stumbled out last, and his world turned upside down.
His mouth fell open, the practiced arrogance of a Celestial Dragon scion evaporating. Before him stretched a city of metal. The ceiling, ribbed with organic-looking supports, soared away into darkness. Conduits of glowing blue energy pulsed along the walls like luminous veins. In the distance, the shapes of massive, silent machinery loomed, their purposes incomprehensible. The scale was god-like, humbling. This wasn't a ship; it was a piece of a lost world.
"By the Empty Throne…" he whispered, the heresy of the phrase lost in his awe.
Marya took three steps forward and paused. A construct, no taller than her knee, scuttled across her path on multiple brass legs. It was a Karakuri automaton, one of the "Ship-Wrights of Yore." Its body was a round, pitted brass sphere, and from it extended four slender, articulated arms. One arm ended in a fine-bristled brush, another in a minuscule welding torch that sputtered a tiny, blue-white star. It paid the humans no mind, its single, forward-facing lens glowing with faint amber light as it continued towards a section of wall plating, where it began polishing a seam with methodical, endless dedication.
Marya raised a single, questioning eyebrow.
"Like, don't mind them!" Bianca interjected, her words rushing out in her signature cadence. "We had to like, make a seriously dramatic exit from Gora-Gora—whole island was, like, throwing a magma tantrum—and we couldn't get all the repairs done. They're still, like, running the basic maintenance loops. We've got, like, seventy-five of the little guys just doing their thing."
Marya's eyes finally locked onto Bianca's, then Galit's. The question hung in the recycled air, heavier than the Grav-Ore of Gora-Gora. "We appear to be missing some people," she stated, her voice calm, but with a steel cable of tension running through it.
Galit let out a long sigh, the sound carrying the weight of bad tides and worse news. His neck coiled slightly tighter. "Yeah," he said, his voice a low, analytical murmur. "We have a lot to talk about."
Marya's gaze hardened, the rings in her irises constricting. She gave a single, short nod. The message was received.
"Big Sis!" Sanza's voice, filled not with fear but with blazing, intellectual curiosity, cut through the tension. He was pointing at a different automaton, this one using two arms to steady a third that held a sonic screw-driver, the tool emitting a barely-audible, high-frequency whine as it tightened an invisible bolt. "What exactly is the purpose of this? The articulation is primitive but the energy source is… is it piezoelectric? Hydrostatic? The tolerances must be infinitesimal!"
Bianca cocked her head, her earlier urgency momentarily derailed by the title. "'Big Sis'?" she repeated, the word sitting awkwardly in her rapid-fire speech pattern.
Marya didn't turn, her focus still on Galit's grim expression. "Yeah," she said, the word a dry concession. "I have a lot to tell you, too."
The air several feet in front of them shimmered, as if heat were rising from an invisible pool. Then, light coalesced, weaving itself into the elegant form of Halia. Her silver-blue hair flowed in a phantom underwater current, and her lower body dissolved into a cascade of gentle light particles. A soft, cerulean radiance emanated from her, casting a cool glow on their faces.
"Greetings, and welcome back," Halia said, her voice a melody of calm authority and ancient knowledge. "I have a consolidated briefing prepared for you, integrating damage reports from the Triple Ten drydock, current system status, and—"
Sanza was across the space in a flash, sliding to a halt on his knees, his eyes wide enough to swallow the holographic woman whole. "What are you?" he breathed, his earlier analysis replaced by pure, childlike wonder. "A projected energy matrix? A structured photon field? The clarity is amazing! Do you have a quantum storage core?"
Halia looked down, her expression one of mild, polite surprise. "I am the interactive holographic operating system for this vessel, designation Halia, specializing in medical systems, stellar navigation, and the historical archives of the—"
"Like, okay!" Bianca cut in, throwing her hands up. A pencil dislodged from her hair and clattered to the deck. "We like, need to get everyone caught up! The tsunami window is, like, collapsing and we, like, have people in the oven! Let's go!" She started walking briskly towards a large, arched corridor leading deeper into the ship's heart.
Sanza scrambled to his feet, his earlier awe transforming into giddy excitement. He began rubbing his hands together, a mischievous, plotting giggle escaping him. "Oh, this is sublime. A thinking relic! The tactical applications alone… Father's stuffy old knights don't have anything like this…"
As the group fell into step behind Bianca, Galit's sharp eyes finally landed on Mikasi. He nodded at the coyote trotting beside Marya. "Pick up a pet along the way?" he asked, his tone dry but not unkind.
Marya glanced down at Mikasi, whose feathered headdress bobbed with each step. A faint, genuine smirk touched her lips. "That's Mikasi," she said. "I think it's missing Vesta."
Galit nodded slowly, taking in the information. "And so it continues," he murmured, the phrase covering everything from lost crewmates to living instruments to the endless, escalating complexity of their mission. The statement hung in the strange, ancient air of the Dreadnought, a perfect summary of the tangled web they were all trying to navigate.
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