>>5205171>>5205238>>5205293>>5205329The skies of the New Atlantic are mostly overcast, with the faintest sliver of moonlight peeking through gaps in the clouds. Waves lap at the hull of the <span class="mu-i">Calypso</span>, sucking at the hull as the trawler makes steady her course at 14.2 knots. Not her fastest, but definitely a good constant speed that could adapt to an unpredictable ocean.
A skeleton crew mans the night shift, that nebulous eight-hour period between dawn and dusk. The decks themselves are almost entirely abandoned, populated only by a scant, combined number of deckhands and marine security. Mostly to make sure that the cranes, gimbals and heavy-lifters stay secure and fast whenever they aren’t in use.
No one makes a fuss as you take a late-night stroll along the forward deck. They seem to know who you are, even if you hadn’t actually met them one-on-one, or via formal assembly. A combination of scuttlebutt and your pilot’s jumpsuit seem to work wonders at people leaving you to your own discretion.
Tonight is no different than any other slow evening on the Duck. The only difference is that the oil rig was largely stationary, barring rough swells and anomalous waves. Leaning against the railing, and staring off at some distant point on the horizon, you indulge in the simple pleasure of isolation. And let your mind meander to other things…
<span class="mu-i">“…Sinleq Unami, was it? Sorry if I mispronounced that. I’m Jean Barnet. Looks like we’ll be rooming together for year one.”</span>
…now that had been almost a lifetime ago. Two fresh-faced teenage youths, hopeful applicants to engineering school. Daring dreamers who aspired to become a part of Babylonia’s elite PUEXO program. Maybe a bit of vainglory, and the teenage aspiration of a girl on each arm. The modern-day heroes of the Flooded World.
<span class="mu-i">“My granddad had a story of his Uncle Joe, who had himself a fancy-schmancy cybernetic arm. A bonafide Swiss Army Knife of a limb. Thing damn near killed him when the sun blew up, and fried half his nerves…”</span>
…you were always interested in the finer points of mechanical engineering. Grounded and practical, but you’d never be short of work. He dreamed of one day resurrecting cybernetics and prosthetic limbs, in a post-Cataclysm world. He
<span class="mu-i">“I’m thinking…if we don’t get in…we’ll open up a shop along Dockside…we’ll call it the B&U Cybershop…maybe spend a few years on an oil rig to get that sweet, sweet startup money…”</span>
…one of you did get in. But the other one didn’t.
It was something that Jean had never really gotten over. Happy as he had been for you, and it had been genuine. But there are honestly times when you lie on your cot, and wonder if that had any weight on what he ended up doing next…
<span class="mu-i">“Alright, Miss Godwin, I think that’s just about done. Give the academy a ring if your AC starts acting up again.”</span>
(cont.)
