The blast doors groaned, iron biting into deck plating to seal the helm off from the rest of the ark. Renzo rubbed the bridge of his nose, mentally remapping the ship's circuitry. Donato. Of course. The moment he’d been forced to be useful, he’d reverted to type, like a barnacle clinging to a sinking hull. “Well,” Sabina said, her voice a low growl, “that was unexpected.” Her hand, calloused and firm, found the hilt of a curved cutter she kept strapped to her thigh. Not quite a blade, but sharp enough to open a man if necessary. Renzo didn’t bother correcting her. Unexpected was a word for a sudden squall, not Donato’s predictable brand of self-serving idiocy. He just wished his pest-deterrent traps hadn't been linked to his personal master codes, which his retinal display refused to authorize outside the control center. “Stay close,” Renzo muttered, already scanning the internal schematics projected by his retinal display. The corridor outside the hydroponics bay was a maze of maintenance conduits and, more crucially, a dense web of his suspended bunks. Built for effortless sleep without the nuisance of climbing into bunks, their counterweights could also deliver bone-cracking kinetic force if the dampeners clicked off. As if on cue, a clatter of heavy boots echoed from the main corridor. Donato’s voice, closer now and stripping through the ventilation shafts without comms distortion, bounced off the bulkheads. “Renzo! Sabina! Come out with your hands where I can see them! I know you’re in there, you lazy schemer!” Sabina gripped her cutter tighter. “Schemer? He’s the one who just locked us out.” “His definition of ‘schemer’ is anyone who knows how to operate a screwdriver without assistance,” Renzo replied, his eyes still fixed on the HUD, mentally tracing power conduits. He saw the faint heat signatures of Donato’s enforcers, four of them, positioned around the hydroponics entrance. And one familiar, slightly cooler signature lingered near a junction box marked 'REACTOR ACCESS – DEFLECTOR COUPLING.' Gaelo. The steel door to the hydroponics bay hissed open, revealing Donato, flanked by two of his hulking guards, their faces grim and armed with scavenged harpoon launchers. Donato himself brandished a heavy-gauge pipe, its end crudely sharpened. He looked far too pleased with himself. “There you are!” Donato crowed, a triumphant, almost childish grin splitting his face. “Thought you could just run my ship, did you? My family’s ship! Lucky for you, Gaelo here understood proper chain of command.” He gestured vaguely at the shadows where Gaelo’s signature had been, but Gaelo himself remained obscured, a ghost in the periphery. "Rank?" Renzo scoffed. “You mean Gaelo let you out of your padded cell, handed you a blunt instrument, and told you to play captain?” He barely spared Donato a glance, his focus still on the HUD, preparing his move. Donato’s face flushed. “He saw sense! He understands loyalty! Now, the master override keys for this Pelagic apparatus of yours. Hand them over. We’re taking this tub to solid land. No more of your crazy monster-hunting schemes.” Donato’s teeth flashed as he clutched a handful of glowing Salvation Tokens, copper discs warm and humming like live wasps. He had clearly cracked the dispenser locker behind the nav station. Renzo's stomach bottomed out. The brass markers. The sonar beacons. Donato held them like casino chips. "Donato, you halfwit, those aren't scrip for shore leave. They're acoustic lures. They ping at the exact frequency of a dying whale, calling every deep-sea terror to our coordinates. The more you have, the louder the signal. You’re turning us into the biggest, brightest chum bucket in the ocean!” Donato threw his head back and laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “What, you think I’m going to believe that pathetic lie? You just want to keep all the power, don’t you? Keep your little toy for yourself, and make us all live in fear of your ‘monsters.’ Gaelo already explained it to me, you’re just trying to scare me out of the wheelhouse. Not going to happen!" He rattled the metal markers, their green glow brightening in his palm. Each pulse was a tiny, invisible chime in Renzo’s skull, a ghost of the device's deadly approval vibrating through the decking. “Gaelo,” Sabina interjected, her voice sharp, “what exactly did you tell him?” A shadow peeled away from the valve clusters near the power conduits. It was Gaelo, a faint, predatory smile on his lips. He moved with a quiet efficiency, his hand subtly resting on a corroded panel. “Only what was necessary to secure the ark’s future, Sabina. The Castillos will provide a suitable distraction.” He didn't even look at Donato. His eyes were fixed on Renzo, a flicker of something cold and calculating in their depths. Renzo’s HUD flickered amber: [BARRIER COUPLING – SHUNT FAILURE IMMINENT]. Gaelo was going to smash it. Right now. The pirate raid was here. Donato, the oblivious pawn, was rattling cursed markers and barking demands while Gaelo prepared to gut their perimeter. “Donato, get out of the way!” Renzo yelled, but it was too late. He didn’t have time for explanations or moral choices. He had to act. He blinked rapidly against his retinal display, tripping a preset sub-routine. The hallway, previously still, erupted. With pneumatic snaps, the slung berths stowed against the overhead pipes dropped like counterweighted pendulums. Not gently. Renzo had recalibrated their dampeners. They became massive, padded pendulums, swinging with terrifying force. One of Donato’s guards, caught by surprise, was struck squarely in the chest, his harpoon launcher clattering to the deck as he crumpled. Another shrieked as a hammock slammed into his legs, sending him sprawling. Donato barely managed to duck, pipe flailing uselessly. “What in the deep’s name–!” Amid the racket, Gaelo kicked clean through the junction panel by the maintenance ladder. The panel buckled, wires sparked, and a sickening crunch reverberated through the deck. Renzo’s HUD shrieked again: [SHIELD MATRIX – OFFLINE. CORE BREACH IMMINENT]. Gaelo looked up, a triumphant snarl on his face, his eyes meeting Renzo’s. “That’s for my masters, Corbal. The Corsair Armada sends its regards.” As if on cue, the world outside exploded into a cacophony of distant horns and the rasp of stripped diesel exhausts. Renzo glanced at an auxiliary exterior feed flickering on the corridor bulkhead. On the horizon, a flotilla of rust-bucket pirate barges, their prows bristling with crude cannon and grappling hooks, cut through the churning waters, heading directly for the now-undefended Somnolent Leviathan. The dinner bell had been rung, and the scavengers were coming to feast.

The Mutiny of Fools