Chapter 27
T he interior of the wreck swallowed them in darkness broken only by faint, flickering emergency strips.
Greta moved like she belonged here, hand trailing along the walls, eyes scanning every panel, every cable, every symbol etched into the metal.
“It’s old,” Klari said, voice echoing softly through the flooded corridor. “Maybe a long-range survey vessel or a colony ship that probably crashed long before this platform was ever built.”
“Look at the alloy layering — they were trying to survive atmospheric re-entry and deep-space radiation at the same time.”
Klari stayed close behind her, one hand never leaving the small of her back. “You sound like you’re enjoying this.”
“I am,” she admitted with a breathless laugh. “This is what I do, Klari. Broken systems. Dead circuits. Things everyone else has given up on. This ship is talking to me.”
She stopped at a collapsed bulkhead and pointed. “Help me move this panel. Gently — I don’t want to shear any power lines that might still be intact.”
He braced his shoulder against the heavy composite and pushed. Metal groaned. The panel shifted just enough for her to squeeze through. She slipped inside what looked like a secondary engineering bay, then turned and held out her hand.
“Come on. I need your strength.”
Inside, the room was a beautiful mess. Consoles tilted at odd angles, cables floated like seaweed, and a central power core — a massive crystalline cylinder — sat dark but not dead. Faint blue veins still pulsed weakly inside the crystal.
Greta’s eyes lit up.
“There we go,” she whispered, almost reverent. “That’s the heart. Damaged, but not gone. It could be enough to get us out of here.”
She swam closer, running her fingers along the crystal housing. “Klari, I need you to hold this panel steady while I reroute the primary conduit. If I get the flow right, we might wake the auxiliary systems.”
He moved into position, massive arms bracing the heavy panel while she worked. His tail stayed loosely coiled with hers, a constant point of contact.
“Tell me what you’re doing,” he said, voice low. “I want to understand.”
She flashed him a quick grin, the kind that made his markings brighten.
“Short version? This ship appears to run on a hybrid crystalline-matrix system. The main power is dead, but the backup lattice is still holding a trickle charge. If I can bypass the damaged regulators and force a restart sequence, we might get lights, sensors, maybe even partial engine control.”
Her hands moved fast and sure, claws delicately manipulating frayed cables. “Hold it there — perfect. Now don’t move.”
Minutes ticked by. Her timer was still running, but for the first time since the current had torn them apart, she felt in control.
“Talk to me,” she said without looking up. “Distract me from the fact that we’re sitting ducks in here.”
Klari’s voice rumbled through the water. “You’re terrifying when you’re like this. Confident. Brilliant. Like the sea itself bends to your will.”
She laughed softly. “Flattery while I’m elbow-deep in alien tech? Dangerous game.”
“I’m serious.” His free hand brushed a strand of floating hair from her face. “Watching you work… it reminds me why I kept fighting through seven games. Not for status. Not for the Council. For the chance that something — someone — like you might exist.”
Greta paused, fingers stilling on a glowing conduit. She looked up at him, eyes soft. “Careful. You’re going to make me think you like me for more than my body.”
“I like you for all of it,” he said simply. “The way your mind works. The way you refuse to break. The way you chose me when you didn’t have to.”
The moment stretched, warm and intimate, even in the cold metal tomb.
Then the ship gave its first response.
A low, deep hum vibrated through the deck plating.
Greta’s eyes widened. “That’s it. That’s the lattice waking up. Hold steady — I’m bridging the secondary circuit now.”
She twisted two cables together. Sparks danced along the connection, bright blue in the dark water. The hum grew louder, steadier. One by one, emergency lights flickered on along the walls, casting a soft amber glow across the flooded bay.
Klari’s markings pulsed in time with the ship’s rising energy.
“Greta…”
“Almost there,” she whispered, voice tight with excitement. “Just one more reroute…”
She reached deep into the crystalline housing, fingers brushing the main power node. For a terrifying second nothing happened.
Then the core ignited.
A brilliant blue-white light bloomed inside the crystal, spreading outward in pulsing waves. The entire ship answered.
Consoles flickered to life. Distant fans began to whir, pushing water through ancient filters. The low hum deepened into a steady, powerful thrum that resonated through every bulkhead.
The engines caught.
Not full power — not yet — but the unmistakable vibration of a starship waking up after years of silence rolled through the wreck like a heartbeat.
Both of them went completely still.
They floated there in the glowing engineering bay, tails still loosely entwined, listening to the ship come alive around them. The lights steadied. The hum settled into a constant, reassuring rhythm.
For the first time since they had been dropped into this nightmare, something felt like it was on their side.
Greta turned slowly to face Klari.
He was already looking at her.
The look they shared was everything.
Hope — bright and terrifying and real. Two people who had been torn apart by currents, monsters, and rival claws, now standing (floating) inside a dead ship that was no longer dead.
Two people who might actually be about to win.
Klari reached out and cupped her face with one clawed hand, thumb brushing gently over her cheek.
“You did it,” he said quietly, voice rough with awe.
“We did it,” she corrected, leaning into his touch. Her pink scales caught the new light and glowed like living rose quartz. “Now we just have to figure out how to make it fly.”
His markings pulsed slow and warm against her skin. “Now that,” he said, “is something I can do.”