Reverse: 1999 story · Event stories
Last Evenings on Earth
23 scenes, 2,559 lines
1. A Message Delivered
213 linesWhen the first proverb appears on the shell, we reach the shores of elsewhere—the island, the upturned palm of Mother Sea.
The once drifting boat now beds itself in the golden sand.
When the second proverb appears on the shell, we kindle the fire—the crackling warmth, the spark of hope.
The joyful people are long blessed as one.
When the third proverb appears on the shell, we accept the sea's gift—the rolling waves, the plentiful fish.
The cool sea breeze cradles us.
When the fourth proverb appears on the shell, we face the test—the salty tears, the longing gaze.
Beyond the sea, I find no home.
Beyond the sea, I find no home.
You did well today, Tutu.
Thank you, Kamuta! I was just playing my part in celebrating the success of the trade season. Nothing special, really.
But what are we doing here? What could be more important than the celebration?
I've never seen you sneak off on a bonfire night before.
...
Tutu, do you think you and your friends could fix up that old ship?
I know you're close with Toa, Selone, and the rest. They always make sure their first fous go to you. I'm sure they'd be happy to lend you a hand.
And the elders like you, too. I've heard many of them say they'll leave their Spirit Shells to you. So you can win their support, too, right?
Woah! Slow down, big chief! Are you saying you want to fix up the Quick Spear?
Hm! Yeah.
But why? We've kept it docked for years.
Maybe one day we'll need to set sail again—to fish or spend some time on another island.
But, the merchants already come by every few months to bring us hala fruits and red snappers. Why would we need to sail?
Kamuta paces back and forth in front of Fatutu, the words stuck in his throat.
Yeah, but what if a storm hits? Are we just going to sit around and let the waves wash away our homes?
We've been through much worse than a few storms.
She raises her head proudly.
Remember when the waves came and took away Malaga? Heilani cried for days over that little pebble castle.
And then that strange oil polluted the water all around Itiiti—the only place where the water's calm enough to hold the Paopao race. We haven't held a race since.
Then Miti and Vaipuna ...
But we've made it through, because that's what we do in the face of difficulties, right? We stick together. Besides, we're doing just fine on Meli.
But what if we lose Meli to the waves as well?
...
If it comes to that, Tutu, I need you to take everyone and leave—find somewhere to stay for a while. Can I ask that of you?
Fatutu's brow furrows.
You've been acting strange, brother. Are you thinking of sneaking off and leaving us?
I'm not going anywhere. I promise.
Neither are the rest of us, brother.
No! You must get ready. Start preparing now!
Kamuta's unusual behavior leads Fatutu to make a bold guess.
Something's been bothering you since last trade season. You've been spending a lot of time on the beach, looking out to the sea.
Did a witch put a spell on you?
You better wear some molukka around your neck and carry knitbones and dulse leaves.
No, no, there's no witch. It's just something Ms. Grace told me. It's been bugging me.
Ms. Grace? That outsider who calls herself a captain?
With the singing of the Nukutai, the trade festival slowly comes to an end.
On the beach, the Nukutai bid farewell to their guests in twos and threes, enjoying this rare moment of leisure.
I don't mean to alarm you, Mr. Kamuta.
But three months from now, Meli will be devoured by a tsunami.
She stands nonchalantly, as if discussing something insignificant.
Ms. Grace, don't say such nonsense!
You're welcome as a guest, but that doesn't give you the right to spread fear among my people.
What if I told you that the sinking of Malaga and Vaipuna wasn't entirely caused by the tsunami, but there were other factors at play?
...!
It is true that the tsunami sent them into the sea. But long before it struck, foreign military forces had been eyeing the islands for their strategic value.
Those rumbling sounds ... They weren't thunder?!
They were torpedoes launched by humans.
She presents a thick document in her hand.
And I have some unfortunate news regarding them.
Kamuta grabs the cold, impersonal stack of white paper.
"The area is now under martial law. Any development plans for the region should be revised accordingly."
These coordinates ... they cover Nukutaeao.
After a brief investigation, they concluded that your home is an unoccupied area suitable for their weapon testing.
It won't be long before they publish a report on this new test site and receive their rewards for discovering it.
The Veil of Nothingness was cast by our ancestors to protect us from the outside world.
I never thought it would put us at risk.
As Chief, I must bring this to the attention of my people. Perhaps it's time we removed the mist. But without it, we'll draw all kinds of attention.
Kamuta clenches the report tightly in his fist.
Ms. Grace, may I borrow this document? My people need to see this.
Be my guest. But you'd better persuade them quickly.
Why's that?
As far as I know, they're looking to expand the test site. It's on their agenda now.
Right. We'll have to set up a meeting with them to negotiate.
Certainly. I wish you the best of luck persuading those warmongers, and for your safety in the coming tsunami.
Every nonchalant word that leaves her mouth strikes Kamuta with the shocking gravity of the situation.
With all due respect, Ms. Grace ...
Not even the Nukutai can predict the movements of the ocean that far in advance. On what basis are you making this forecast?
It's not a forecast, Mr. Kamuta.
Call it the wisdom of hindsight.
Or perhaps, I should put it more clearly. Have you heard of the "Storm"?
Kamuta! Kamuta! Brother!
...!
The rain's getting heavier! We must go inside!
Rain blurs Kamuta's vision.
He stares into the distance, his eyes widening as the frothing waves roar toward the coast. The sea level is rising.
It's the tsunami. It's happening.
Like the soil beneath the ever-rising waterline, Kamuta's murmured words are quickly buried.
The sea has almost swallowed the whole atoll.
What's going on, Tutu? Kamuta?
A worried figure hurries over.
No time for questions, Toa! We must bring these baskets to safety!
Fatutu is already pushing as many woven baskets filled with berries and bundled material as she can up to higher ground. Her hands are a sore red, her face stamped with desperate determination.
Ah, there's food and clothes in there!
Here, I'll give you a hand!
A tall figure rushes over, grabbing the baskets from the children's hands and tossing them aside.
Chief, what are you doing?!
Leave them! There's no time! We must get to the ship! Now!
Our people still have to live after the flood's over!
If we don't bring something, what are we going to eat or wear? These things won't fall into our laps, you know.
Listen! It's different this time. You—
Before Kamuta can finish speaking, a few dark shadows dart out from the forest.
*roar*
Tutu! Watch out!
...!
A row of sharp claws grazes Kamuta's back.
What are all these Splintercats doing here?!
&!*/% ...
The near-endless surge of critters starts to create an even greater panic.
These aren't just Splintercats! Are those Sarmatian Sea Snails? And crabs with ghost faces?!
I've never seen them all come out together before. What kind of storm is this?!
In the flashes of lightning, doubt and worry flicker across the Nukutai's faces.
They can sense the coming tsunami! Come, we need more hands to drive them off!
Understood!
The fleeing critters surge like the tide, scattering the Nukutai.
Many are left wounded.
Go! All of you! Now!
Everyone, get to the Quick Spear!
&@#/(#—!
Tutu! Don't just stand there! Get over here!
From the shadows, a spiny claw swipes at Fatutu.
*Slæstu í djúpan dvala.
An inky-black incantation flashes past her.
A familiar face appears at the highest point of the reef.
...!
Ms. Grace!
Grace surveys the scene, a gentle smile on her face.
Seems I'm right on time.
You're Ms. Grace.
You should be more careful out here, dear.
People of Nukutaeao, are you ready to set sail?
The pale shadow gracefully lands beside Fatutu.
Set sail?
No, no, you've got this all wrong, outsider!
We are not going anywhere. We Nukutai will not abandon our home.
The string of shells around Fatutu's neck heaves along with the defiant breaths in her chest.
Tutu, wait. Maybe Ms. Grace knows a better way.
She pulls away from Kamuta's hand.
...
Refuse all you like, Miss, but your homeland will be completely submerged before long.
Her words are light, almost careless, as they toy with this unmoving rock before her.
We appreciate your help, Ms. Grace, and we'll make sure to return the favor as best we can.
But we don't find your view on the situation all that convincing.
You don't, do you?
The critter, now bound by Grace's incantation, is pulled before Fatutu.
Take a look at this little creature—one of nature's many remarkable creations.
...
It has a fitting name too: the Moon-Eyed Fiddler.
They hide themselves in the water, covering their traces with the ebb and flow of the tide.
They only come ashore when the tide is high, and from there, they migrate to quieter waters.
To diviners and arcane dealers, they are the living gold of the ocean.
But to the people who live near their regular habitats, they are an ill omen.
Wherever they appear, floods are sure to follow.
Grace takes a few subtle steps toward Fatutu.
This tsunami is only the beginning.
Animals migrate and leave their homes behind when conditions become unfavorable. You should do the same.
Look around you. Think about your people.
The tide of critters seems to have subsided, but the Nukutai still bleed.
Fatutu can clearly hear their labored sighs and gasps.
Tutu, it's okay. We know you have your reasons.
Fatutu stands frozen, the sand and gravel carried by the seawater washing over her trembling feet.
Tears well up in her eyes as the mottled gray of the sky above seems to merge with the crimson ground below.
Do we really have to leave?
Grace gently adjusts Fatutu's collar, wiping the rain from her face.
The outside world is indeed full of dangers, but there is less to fear than you think.
I'll help you through it.
The tide grows more turbulent, crashing against rocks and shaking the foundations of the Nukutai's homes.
There's a series of crashes as coconut trees fall, and earth crumbles and falls into the sea.
There it is. Our ship.
Last Evenings on Earth
♪ ... ♫ ...!
Today's headlines: A new naval testing site has been established in an unoccupied area of the Eastern Pacific Ocean to facilitate future armament research and development.
South America is facing a significant economic crisis marked by stagnation, inflation, and rising unemployment. The poverty rate in several regions has reached new highs in the last decade.
The Ocean Conservation Association is calling for greater attention to be paid to the oil spill near the archipelagos, claiming that the relevant organizations have yet to launch a full investigation into the cause of the incident.
The "Free Breeze" cruise ship is set to arrive in Sydney Harbor later today. Astrophysicists forecast a solar eclipse this month.
A hand precisely presses the little green button.
And a painful wail follows.
Ah, Ms. Radio!!
How could you do this to me—today of all days? Your bloody alarm ruined my precious holiday lie-in!
My apologies, Ms. Regulus. But it wasn't an alarm. It was the daily news broadcast.
The swatted-aside Ms. Radio seems to have a clear signal.
If the morning news isn't quite to your taste, I can offer a variety of alternatives, including programs on literature and music critique, Australian food, and so on.
Ugh. No!
Her cry echoes through the room.
Sorry, it seems I've caught you at a bad time.
Ezra, having just peeked his head through the door, immediately ducks back.
A one-sided conflict seems inevitable.
Um. But please be careful, Ms. Regulus. I know the LSCC encourages us to examine machines like Ms. Radio, but I don't think a violent disassembly would go down so well.
Regulus gets to her feet.
Violence? If there's any sort of violence in this room, I'm the one receiving it! Where's my justice?
Well, I'm afraid justice might be slow to come. The Australian branch is going through restructuring at the moment. Things will be put on hold for a while.
In the meantime, you've been assigned to a new team—the "Storm" Research Group.
What? Me?
Yes. Mr. Ulrich's leading it. He made a special request for you to be on the team. He's looking forward to meeting you in person.
What, just like that? Didn't anyone care to ask me what I wanted to do?!
Regulus's puzzled expression soon gives way to a sudden realization.
Wait. Why are you telling me this now?
Um. The list of group members and the reasons for their selection have been up on Laplace's website for a week now.
...
And today is its official founding day. You should be there, as a Laplace staff member and an important part of the new team.
...?
Hold on a minute! As far as I'm concerned, I'm still on Team Timekeeper!
And more importantly, I'm still on my time off!
Good to see that you actually paid attention in our last group meeting, Regulus.
The owner of the suitcase, Regulus's savior, the great Timekeeper, arrives at the door.
The fast-drowning pirate is hoping for a life preserver.
Sorry to break it to you like this, Regulus, but today's our last day off.
You can't be serious!
Of course, I am. Also, Mr. Ulrich has invited us to attend the ceremony in Laplace.
Shall I give you a moment to get ready?
Noooooo!
2. "Free Breeze"
104 lines
Captain, we seem to have deviated from our route to Laplace.
The road to the LSCC is ever fraught with obstacles.
...
A great pirate, Mr. APPLe, doesn't simply rely on her compass. She must listen to her heart, too!
Ah. This APPLe thought you were trying to slip away to make the most of your final day off.
Ahem. Well, that too.
Like Odysseus returning victorious from the Trojan War, Regulus nimbly dives into one vortex after another.
Come get your Succarath whiskers all the way from Brazil, perfect for brewing a Chillwind Elixir! Only 185 Sharpodonties!
See anything you like? You won't find a better price anywhere!
Whoa, this is a good price! Do you have more of this stuff? Show me everything you've got!
Captain, might I remind you that Ms. Sotheby is not traveling with us at this time?
Oh, yeah. You're right.
The temptations before them seem to be endless.
♪—♫—
A street artist sings as paint flies through the air, almost splashing onto Regulus's sunglasses.
Alright, mate? Whoa, love the colors! How about bringing in some pop art? Trust me, it'll take it to a whole new level.
You should come visit London sometime! We've got some seriously groovy art on the streets.
Pop art? That's a bit dated, don't you think?
I beg your pardon?!
Just as Regulus rolls up her sleeves, ready for a tussle, a not-too-distant cheer grabs her attention.
What is it? Could it be Manus Vindictae?
Ms. Vertin did caution us against the Manus followers we might encounter in Australia.
No, it's something much more important than that!
Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the greatest sailaway party in all Australia!
For those of you who haven't signed up for the trip, think again! This is the ultimate sailing experience—relaxation, food, drink, and music! Don't miss out!
The "Free Breeze" is about to set sail!
No need to worry about currency exchange! Whether it's Australian dollars, Sharpodonties, arcane materials, or a rare collectible item—all are welcome in exchange for a ticket of equal value!
A small price to pay for an unforgettable journey with the talented multi-instrumentalist Barcarola and her fantastic Crackling Box!
The cheers grow louder and louder.
We've also prepared a little gift for our most enthusiastic guest:
A free cruise ticket!
*sigh* This APPLe should have known better.
Ladies and gentlemen, the party starts now! Put your hands together for the enchanting Ms. Barcarola and her captivating melodies!
Woo-hoo!
Compliments gush from the ticket seller's mouth as the star at the center of the stage subtly turns her face away.
You're much too kind, Mr. Hamish, saying all these wonderful things about me, but I'm only a cruise musician.
It's thanks to the collective efforts of the whole crew that the "Free Breeze" has been so successful. I just feel privileged to be a part of it.
I know you want to stay humble, Ms. Barcarola, but there's no reason to be so modest!
Many of our guests come aboard just to hear you play, and I'm sure there will only be more in the future! So, what's the harm with hyping the crowd up with a little round of applause?
Well, if it's for the ship, I suppose I can handle a little publicity.
Of course you can! And you deserve it, too! By the way, do you know the guest over there? She's very, uh, enthusiastic.
Hm?
She follows the direction he's pointing to find a particularly lively duo among the crowd.
A girl dressed in red and blue, and a floating apple.
She's been drumming up the crowd—sold us a load more tickets! We've never sold out so quickly!
Alright everyone, listen up! I've got some exciting news to share!
This piece of paper in my hand could be your ticket to an incredible seafaring adventure! Just think about the cool breeze, the spruced-up cruise ship, and the awesome music!
What more could you ask for? This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance for a trip you'll never forget!
So, let's get buzzing! Throw your hands in the air and your coins out of your pockets, and let your dreams come to life!
Let's hear those coins jingle and feel your spirits soar!
Woo-hoo!
The cheering grows louder and louder.
Is she a local? Australians are known for their sunny disposition.
No one knows her, Miss. But, to be honest, I'd love to invite her to join the crew. If only the captain weren't so picky with the new recruits.
She nods approvingly at the freely dancing figure and clutches her Crackling Box tighter to her chest.
I know what you mean. Her enthusiasm is infectious. Maybe her energy would wake up our stuffy new captain!
I'll never understand why the captain fired the old crew and hired a load of people who don't seem to have any clue about music. All they do is make noise, and not the good kind either!
Several startled gazes land on Barcarola.
Shh. We better keep it down, Miss. They'll hear us.
He turns, peeking in the direction of the ship before awkwardly retracting his neck.
We didn't hear any dissenting opinions about our captain, now, did we?
No, of course not!
The crew members glance at each other awkwardly, coughing softly to urge the embarrassing moment to pass quickly.
Guests come and go, and the melodies continue one after another.
Eventually, the sailaway party comes to an end.
Captain, if I may, perhaps it's time we made our way to Laplace?
Come on, Mr. APPLe! The crowd's going crazy for us! Can't you see how close we are to winning that free ticket?
I suppose you're right, Captain. But the crew seems to be packing up for the day.
THEY WHAT?!
Regulus quickly intercepts the cruise team before they can make their way back on the ship.
Oh. Can I help you? I'm afraid Ms. Barcarola won't be signing any more albums today.
...
Sorry, Miss, but the "most enthusiastic guest" was really just a turn of phrase.
We're nearly sold out tonight, and bookings are still coming in. I don't think we can spare a ticket for you. Come by next time, and we'll see what we can do.
You—
Easy, Captain! They never really explained what they meant by the "most enthusiastic guest." We're in no position to argue.
Regulus glances around. The once-bustling crowd has dwindled to just a few scattered passersby.
Clearly, there is no one present to uphold justice for her.
What a bloody scam! I'm filing a complaint! Just you wait and see!
I understand your frustration, Miss. The ship is sailing in just a couple of days. Even if you file a complaint right at this moment, we won't hear a thing from the Tourist Office before we set sail.
...
Barcarola frowns and pulls the crewman aside.
I feel bad for her, Mr. Hamish. And just think how this will affect our reputation. With your consent, I'd like to offer this young lady a ticket and a stay in my cabin.
I'll be more than happy to pay for her!
You've done this so many times, Ms. Barcarola.
I'm afraid I have to turn you down. You know the new captain won't exactly be thrilled to have a freeloader on the ship.
But ...
Regulus barges between the two muttering colleagues.
So, how much longer do you need to think up an excuse?
Ugh, alright. In view of your outstanding enthusiasm, we offer you a special gift for your help with our event.
There. Thanks for your support.
A stack of "souvenirs" is thrust into Regulus's arms. Dejected, she turns to leave.
Barcarola pulls out a marker and cries out after her.
Huh?
I hope we can see each other again. Preferably soon.
What?!
3. Cryptography for Beginners
110 linesThe glass tank leans forward, the ferrofluid rippling around inside it.
The ferrofluid pauses at the information presented before it.
So, they gave you this flyer at the sailaway party?
Not just that one. There's a whole stack of them!
Alright, Researcher Regulus. I think I've got everything down.
Let's run through it again:
Researcher Regulus suffered horrendous mistreatment during the pre-sail event of the "Free Breeze," which has had a significant psychological impact on her. In order to recover from this traumatic event, she formally requests—
A one-year advance on her salary and 15 days of leave. The funds are to be used solely to book passage on a cruise trip, with the goal of replacing her negative experience from the pre-sail event with a more positive one!
I'm telling the truth! I ...
The ferrofluid remains still for a long moment.
*sigh* I can see that bottle of artificial tears in your hand, Regulus. Please put it away. There's no need for dramatics.
Thank you, Ulrich. I knew there was a soft spot underneath all that metal!
Not so fast, Regulus. I never said I agreed to your request.
No? Why? I'm a researcher just like anybody else, aren't I? Shouldn't Laplace be looking out for my well-being?
Regulus!
You've been working in Laplace for 11 months now, and you still haven't submitted your performance appraisal or published a single valid project result!
In other words, you haven't completed your probationary period. So, you can't get the benefits of a full-time employee.
I ...
And to top it all off, you didn't even show up to register at the first "Storm" Research Group meeting!
In the face of such overwhelming evidence, there is no room for rebuttal.
Well, I-I ...
Her protestation has grown noticeably weaker.
Please, save me the excuses.
There's still a chance for you to turn things around. You can take another assessment.
We'll use the results to make up for the assessments you've missed. It'll be crucial for your performance review and, consequently, your employee benefits.
Ulrich turns and reaches into a bookshelf. Clearly, he has prepared for such an outcome.
Document after document is pulled from the bookshelf and placed on the table, until Regulus can no longer see above them.
I thought you said it was just a test!
I did. And I meant it. This is just some light reading—for you to reference during the test.
And this. This is the test.
The numbers on this paper may appear random, but they're actually an encrypted code. Your task is to figure out what the message is.
You can use the computer to help you, and you might find some useful books and papers in the second drawer on your left. The instructions for the computer and a guide on how it works are all in there.
...
He exits, leaving Regulus to her mathematical prison.
You better keep your word, Ulrich, or you'll be no different than those sailors.
At least they didn't torture me with maths!
Lend me your strength, Brian May, Jim Morrison, Frank Zappa ...
Oh, God!
How much time has passed?
Regulus has lost all concept of it.
Endless numbers dance before her eyes, spinning and blurring together.
It's like she's descended into some kind of cursed land of numbers.
You're taking a test, not going to war.
Captain, this APPLe has an impression on this.
Hmm. Maybe you were their target because you are an irrational number.
Is it really a puzzle unsolvable?
Are you scared?
Captain!
Follow me, Regulus.
Best of luck, Researcher Regulus.
In her daze, she's brought back to her days in Apeiron.
Why's this happening to me? Is this some kind of cruel joke from that Apeiron lot?
This realization seems to clear her mind for a moment.
There's no escape from those mathematical demons!
Somebody! Anybody! Help me, please!!
The mathematical onslaught seems endless.
Ulrich opens the door and takes Regulus's scribbled piece of notepaper.
Glad to see you're still in high spirits, Researcher Regulus.
Hmm, but this doesn't add up. I gave you an encrypted code, not a Sudoku puzzle.
Wh-What do you mean?
Regulus looks as though she's just been struck by lightning.
Come on. Get yourself together!
The ninth "Storm" has passed, Researcher Regulus. You've had plenty of time to brush up on your math.
Ulrich strides over, picking up a paper from the desk on his way.
Alright, let me explain. All you have to do is a basic decode and transcription of the result using the Laplace encryption key. See how the fourth from last digits have changed?
There are no numbers greater than 24 within the 17th interval, and those in the 18th interval don't exceed 59. So, if we make a bold assumption here—
These numbers have probably been coded using Laplace's nomenclature, where the codes of time are always placed between the 12th and 18th intervals.
You'll see this a lot here. We use them for ships, satellites, manpower arrangements, and such.
Finally, we input the result into the Laplace astronomy database to see if we find any matches and ... there.
A set of photos taken from space.
These aren't just any photos, Researcher Regulus. Take a closer look.
The first picture was taken on December 2nd, 1995, the day the Solar and Heliospheric Observatory was launched.
Ulrich continues to deliver a flurry of information.
The second picture was taken on June 25th, 1997, during a period of sunspot activity.
The third one is from November 21st, 1998. It's an image of the first satellite ever deployed from a space station.
And the fourth is from December 28th, 1999. Is that a rugby game?
Yes. Looks like it was the last one held in that stadium in Melbourne. The place is just a commercial district now.
Her eyes wander over the next photos. Then, she freezes.
But, wait. This isn't right!
If you're suggesting what I think you are, then these next photos are ...
Her eyes widen.
That's right. From the fifth photo onward, we can't pinpoint their exact time or location, but it seems they involve Halley's Comet, 136199 Eris and the Kuiper Belt, the Uluru Games, and a rock festival.
And there are more. Take a look at these time stamps.
February 9th, 2001 ... October 21st, 2003 ... November, 2005 ...
Ulrich looks out to the endless blue of the sky outside.
This proves one thing: Before all our struggles to study and control the effects of the "Storm" ...
This pioneer crossed the "Storm" unscathed and sent us these images.
The "Storm." That heavy topic.
Once again, it rears its ugly head, mocking anyone who dares to make sense of its absurdity.
But ...
Thankfully, there will always be someone who doesn't bend to its desires.
Why are you telling me all this? Did everyone else's assessments turn into some kind of top-secret briefing?
All I wanted was an advance on my salary!
The ferrofluid gives a stifled pang.
...
Just for once, could you see the bigger picture here? We've been presented with an amazing opportunity.
And all you can think about is your salary?!
4. Music of the Era
181 linesAchoo! Ugh, the dust in here! What, are we inside some kind of vacuum cleaner?
Is that why you always wear that fish tank on your head?
Familiar with Regulus's quirks, Ulrich opts for the most efficient form of communication: none.
...
What's got you so quiet? Pulling the "strong and silent" act now?
Here we are.
The site has been utterly neglected. Dust and debris litter every corner of it.
Here, as in ...?
The Laplace launch site in Sydney. We've collaborated with the Foundation and the space agency for various projects here.
Thanks for the heads-up. I almost thought we'd just barged into some rock star's house.
It will actually take another two years before this place becomes an official launch site.
Oh! Yeah, right, we're basically living in the past.
I visited various launch sites to verify the photos—Guiana Space Centre, Plesetsk Cosmodrome—then, I found this place.
Most of its archives were lost in the "Storm," but a small portion of the early records survived.
I left them here with the rest of the files I compiled.
Papers scatter into the air as he rummages through the files.
Damn it! Where did they go?!
The ferrofluid tremors in his tank.
Absolutely not!
Alright, new task: Stay put and don't touch anything. I need to find those files.
Ugh, fine.
As Ulrich makes his exit, Regulus scans the room, a glint growing behind her eyes.
Oh! Amazing!
An old military base, mysterious photos ... Oh, this is going to be juicy!
No chance Ulrich is stopping this rockin' pirate from going after treasure, I mean, very, very important files.
The hunt is on!
Haha! Let's start with what's on this table!
The clinking and clattering of rummaging fills the air, like a string of cheerful musical notes.
♪ ... ♫ ... ♬
Oh, I almost forgot! Can't go treasure hunting without some music to rock out to!
Turning the knob, she powers up the amplifier.
The world belongs to rock!
The vibrations reach Ulrich, causing the ferrofluid to ripple.
Even the desk is trembling.
Damn it! I forgot to tell her to keep quiet!
Squawk!
The screech of a bird pierces through the pumping music.
What's happening? Is this an earthquake?
A few agile black shadows leap around the upper parts of the observation deck.
The tremors free a note pinned to the wall, and it flutters down to the ground.
The handwriting is all too familiar:
"Investigator's Report: Multiple Tripodero attacks on humans have occurred in the area." "They seem to regard this abandoned facility as their territory, attacking any intruders." "Remember: Keep your movements quiet!!!" Ulrich
Ah, crap! This is the note I wrote last time I was here!
The ferrofluid ripples violently.
Regulus! Turn off that speaker! Now!
♪ ... ♫ ...
Regulus is too immersed in her treasure-seeking to hear him.
Squawk!
A glob of dark green sludge shoots down from above. Ulrich darts aside, narrowly avoiding the attack.
He looks to the observation deck. There is Regulus, gleefully twisting to the music.
Calm down, Ulrich. You're a leader. It's part of your job to clean up after your team.
He looks over the priceless equipment around him and sighs before ducking through the emergency exit.
The Tripoderos follow in hot pursuit.
Ulrich sends a current through the electronic components around him, creating a cacophony of sounds that sends the Tripoderos scattering.
Squawk!
Flux! FLUX! Finally, it's over!
Ulrich stuffs the last piece of damaged equipment into the recovery bin.
Then, he climbs back through the window. He is visibly drained.
Relax. Don't overheat. You'll have to get used to this if you wanna be a good leader.
Regulus bounces lightly into the room.
She waves her treasure—a hefty stack of documents, signed in bold by Ulrich himself.
Ahem. Where's my round of applause?
If you're even half a leader, you'll fight your hardest to get a decent salary for such an outstanding employee as myself!
She shoots him a triumphant wink.
Sure.
Just one more thing, scientist to scientist—
Regulus gestures toward the still-sparking machines beside Ulrich.
You made some pretty cool "electronic music" in that battle. Didn't know you had it in you!
...
Ulrich lets out a deep sigh, deciding to avoid any further arguments with his team member.
Do we have to go through all this right now?
Why? Is there some even more juicy stuff in them?
For you, it might be.
The satellite carries a variety of arcane items. Space seeds, dragon tree resin compasses, obsidian crystals, WFPCs, astronomical spectrometers ...
Even its power source is an arcane record player.
We've made a list of everything that was on it so we can test them against the "Artificial Storm."
The satellite is an archive of the wisdom of the entire human race. It's somehow survived multiple "Storms."
What are you going to do with it?
...!
Regulus's sunglasses slide off her face, but she doesn't even notice.
She grabs the stack of documents and flips to the last page.
"The telescope officially crashed in 2007 in Aldeburgh, England. All onboard instruments were destroyed ... Recovery failed."
"'Regulus Space Telescope' project report: as above."
The telescope project was named after a record that was on the satellite, which also happens to share your name.
Regulus!
Regulus holds her backpack tightly to her chest, its pockets full of treasures.
She flips through a series of records, her hands trembling.
Finally, she finds the treasure she is looking for—a record identical to the one depicted in the documents.
It's from the 1966 Aldeburgh "Crater" Music Festival, an accident from the past.
And her all-time favorite.
My "little thing"—it was the record on the satellite?
So, this is the key to braving the "Storm"?
It might be. Among several other options.
I get it. That's why you wanted me on the "Storm" research team.
Not just that.
I've read the Apeiron Island reports. You demonstrated some serious talent with the Ceres puzzle in that cave, and you've faced more "Storms" than the majority of the Laplace staff.
We're not working together for a couple of research papers. This is about the survival of everything on Earth.
We need all the help we can get, including yours.
...
Regulus falls into an uncharacteristic silence.
Ahem. In fact, Laplace even held a meeting with the Foundation to discuss borrowing your record.
The Foundation suggested we apply for an item transfer order under the "Artificial Storm" project and let the Timekeeper take over the matter.
Some of my colleagues told me that, according to LSCC regulations, lending assets to the Center is mandatory for all staff.
...
The frequency of the ferrofluid's vibrations is chaotic, like some kind of unsolvable cipher.
But ... alright.
Let me be honest with you. I'm not comfortable with taking your record by force. It's yours, after all. It's your choice what you do with it.
So, here I am, not as your leader, but as myself, hoping we can find a solution that works for both of us.
Ah, damn it. I knew it wouldn't be easy.
He angrily knocks his tank with his fist. He is so close to the record he's been searching for.
The ferrofluid ripples into a subtle arc.
Regulus's expression has never been so serious.
Y-You're willingly giving it over to the "Artificial Storm" project?
His carefully prepared arguments vanish in a moment.
For a cause even greater than rock music? Absolutely!
But just to be clear: I'm only lending it to Laplace. You have to give it back when you're done!
It's the only copy in the world and the future centerpiece of the Regulus Museum!
Thank you, Researcher Regulus. Thank you so much!
I was gearing up for a much tougher talk. I even applied for additional funding and a month's leave to offer you as leverage. Well, I suppose I won't have to use it after all.
Regulus freezes.
AH! WHAT?!
The suitcase is in its usual harmony.
Its occupants go about their business, each busying themselves in their own little worlds.
Timekeeper?
Sonetto? What's the rush?
I just wanted to remind you that our vacation in Australia is over.
If you need any help packing, please let me know.
She wipes the sweat from her forehead. Then, she remembers something.
Oh, and I have something for you.
She hands her a colorful piece of paper.
Huh?
Regulus asked me to pass these out. She won them at a sailaway party.
She said they're "highly valuable, the finest choice for any collection," if I recall correctly.
Looks like an ordinary flyer to me.
I've already inspected them.
They're just advertisements with a handwritten signature in the corner and some completely over-the-top promises.
Regulus told me it's a trick that advertisers use. They use fancy words to catch people's eyes and make it seem more grand.
Phrases like "an opulent odyssey upon the boundless sea," "tour the illustrious Pacific coast," "a veritable feast of harmonic reverie," "rare and fortuitous seasonal discount," and "facilities unimaginable in their splendor" ...
Hmm. What's this on the back?
Nor happiness, nor harmony, nor fame,
Nor pride, nor strength, nor skill in arms or arts.
...!
Those familiar words hit like a tidal wave.
123
123
123
123
123
123
Before a cruel whip ...
Man who man would be,
Must rule the empire of himself; in it must be supreme, establishing his throne ...
On vanquished will; quelling the challenges of hopes and fears ...
Being himself alone.
She recoils in shock.
The flyer falls to the ground.
This is a poem she once knew intimately.
One that had been held by countless young hands and flowed gently through equally young voices.
In the tree hollow, in the square, in the outdoors.
...
Sonetto, change of plan.
We need to contact the Foundation. Now.
5. The Day We Set Sail
89 lines
Good afternoon, Mr. President.
May the peace be with us.
May the peace be with us, my friend.
Constantine gives a slight nod as she peers into the shadows.
Zeno has been restored to its usual state. Aside from Igor's ardent supporters, the rest of the Zeno soldiers and officers were unaware of his betrayal—just as we expected.
"Admiral Igor's funeral" has been held as planned—one that befits his rank and status. All relevant personnel remained in South America for the ceremony, as per Zeno's funeral regulations.
We're in the process of selecting a new admiral. I'll provide you with the candidate list shortly.
Additionally, we've dispatched an investigative team to Tierra del Fuego to search for Igor.
Very well.
What about the girl?
She pauses.
The girl? Are you referring to Lopera?
Her emotions have stabilized, so we've decided to leave her in South America for the moment. Of course, she'll be put through the necessary investigations as circumstances dictate.
Keep a close eye on her.
Oh, and that little singing bird?
...
Constantine takes a step closer, lowering her voice.
Zeno is quite upset about our decision regarding Ms. Kimberly. They're insisting she undergoes a more thorough investigation.
I feared that if we gave too much pushback, they would take a more extreme stance in response. So I agreed.
*sigh* Those soldiers never budge.
Of course, Zeno agreed that the investigation would be done under the supervision of the Foundation.
If nothing else comes up, she will be put into the Timekeeper's team and granted the same rights as the other members.
Good. Don't keep Vertin waiting too long.
The Zeno piece has landed safely. Constantine gives an internal sigh of relief.
There's more. Madam Z has received word from the Timekeeper.
The Timekeeper suspects Manus Vindictae is active again in Sydney Harbor. They're likely onboard a cruise ship named "Free Breeze."
This would explain why our field investigators have been having difficulties with their tasks. Manus has covered their tracks carefully this time.
Where's the cruise bound for?
That's still unclear, sir. However, Moth just reported in, confirming that the ship has passed the Oceania islands.
Hmm. An interesting development.
Indeed.
Constantine's tone carries an imperceptible trace of pride.
We're making excellent progress. That's good.
Assign a new mission to Vertin.
You mean, to send them on that cruise?
We can't keep her under our wing forever.
Understood.
The conference room falls silent once more.
Amid the layered marble pillars, a flash of white flits past the window.
A white dove lands on the President's hand and gently pecks at his palm.
What brings you all the way over here, old friend?
He lowers his head, allowing the bird to nuzzle his fingertips.
Oh ... Mm ... Mm.
...
The white dove takes wing, flitting away once more.
So, Laplace has requested the Foundation's assistance with the "Artificial Storm" project?
Yes. Ulrich is overseeing the project and has requested as much asymmetrical nuclide R as we can spare.
He's also requested our help in determining the most suitable location for the experiment.
I have several in mind that should meet his needs.
Constantine involuntarily pauses for a moment.
The location closest to Laplace's Australian branch is on the sea, right where the "Free Breeze" cruise ship happens to be.
I see where you're going.
However, I do have concerns about how this might disrupt our current plans against Manus Vindictae.
Regardless, Laplace will have our full support for the "Artificial Storm" project.
Unexpected determination.
But Moth's status still remains unclear. If we proceed too hastily ...
We might jeopardize the situation.
Her fleeting hesitation catches the President's attention.
I thought you'd have foreseen something like this.
A few pieces must be sacrificed if you're to win the game.
You know that better than anyone, don't you?
...
Is this also the Pax House's decision?
You have my word on it.
I see.
I'll inform the Timekeeper and Ulrich of their missions.
Thank you. I look forward to their meeting.
We meet again, Timekeeper.
Pleasure's mine, Mr. Ulrich. I've heard good things about your work with Regulus.
Frankly, I was surprised by how selfless, passionate, and forward-looking she is. I'm truly grateful to have someone like her on my team.
The ferrofluid is remarkably stable.
Clearly, this is a sincere statement.
...
The situation on the "Free Breeze" is still unclear. We don't know how many Manus Vindictae followers might be on board.
Our plan is to board the cruise as ordinary passengers.
Regulus said she's made acquaintance with a crew member and has made sure to alter our profiles so we don't attract any unwanted attention.
That's good to hear. So Regulus didn't use her money for her own amusement after all.
After muttering to himself, Ulrich returns to the task at hand.
We should stagger our boarding times.
I'll reach out if I spot any signs of Manus Vindictae.
Let's stay in touch. See you on board!
Ulrich gives her a reassuring pat on the shoulder.
Mr. Ulrich, we're more than happy to assist with your mission.
Oh, no, no, no! Please, don't trouble yourself.
Sorry, don't get me wrong. I'd appreciate your help were the circumstances different.
But the experiment is still confidential. Please don't mention it to anyone. I'd like to avoid any unnecessary risks or interference.
On the cruise ship, we are but strangers.
I see.
Don't you worry. I have a little disguise for myself, too.
6. As Home Fades
126 linesThe main hall is packed with passengers. Their wine sways slightly, emitting an enchanting luster in the beautiful, familiar melody.
Girls weave their way carefully through the excited crowd, like a school of nimble fish.
The passengers nod politely to the girl at the front.
Ms. Barcarola! At last you've graced us with your presence!
Henry and I were just having a little wager on whether we'd see our musical star outside the spotlight. Looks like he'll be buying me the next round of whiskey, eh? Haha.
Ah, well bet, sir! Allow me to pour you the first glass. How do you like your whiskey? On the rocks, perhaps?
Indeed, thank you, my dear.
*gasp* Over here, Mum! It's Ms. Barcarola!
Last time I saw her, she performed an entire symphony all by herself. She was the whole orchestra! I've never seen anything like it!
It's good to see you again, my little friend.
The woman beside her turns around and lovingly pats the boy on the head.
Ms. Barcarola, what a pleasure. I've heard so much about you.
My child hasn't stopped talking about you since you spoke to him about the didgeridoo at Sydney Harbor.
He was so excited by it that he begged us to bring one onboard.
How lovely! The didgeridoo truly is an enchanting instrument.
It's so resonant, don't you think? It almost feels like it's echoing from the depths of the earth itself. I've actually been experimenting with playing it alongside my Crackling Box. It's a wonderful match with the tin whistle and kalimba, and I'm sure a number of other instruments too!
As she speaks, Barcarola's eyes sparkle with enthusiasm.
The admiration surrounding her is so bright that it almost blinds the tourist standing nearby. Luckily, she's wearing sunglasses.
Looks like she's pretty popular, too!
Too?
Have you forgotten, Sonetto? You're also looking at a popular public figure yourself! One that had half of London hunting, ah, oh, I mean, cheering for her.
Ah, the bittersweet burden of fame!
...
Their attention is quickly turned to a quiet corner of the ship.
There's a group of people dressed in brightly colored clothes. Crowns made of leaves and flowers adorn their heads, and their bronze skin is glowing under the warm lights.
They stand in a circle, occasionally glancing around, the shells on their chests clinking together melodiously.
That group over there seems unusually uptight.
Having absorbed all the adoration of the people around her, Barcarola makes her way over.
She certainly wouldn't overlook the curiosity of any of her guests.
Oh, those are the captain's special guests. They're from one of the Oceania archipelagos. Nukutaeao, I believe.
They're probably just a bit nervous. I imagine they don't often find themselves among so many foreigners.
After handling the small matter at hand, Barcarola is hurriedly called away by the distant voices of other guests.
Nukutaeao ...
I read about it in A History of Arcane Ethnicity back in the SPDM. It's a remote place, and its people hold a special kind of shell at the center of their beliefs. They've rarely made contact with the outside world.
It's often been described as a peaceful paradise.
I also read that the Nukutai almost never leave their homeland. Why are they here?
Their hushed conversation clearly meets the ears of the nearby Nukutai.
One young boy strides forward, his chest puffed up in indignation.
The Nukutai will never abandon our homeland!
J-Just wait. We'll find our way back when the new era comes!
The new era ...
Though in a foreign accent, these words sound all too familiar.
Toa, that's enough. Tutu told us not to talk with outsiders.
An equally young girl stands protectively in front of the boy.
But, someone had to tell them the truth!
I apologize. I didn't mean to accuse you of anything. I was just curious.
Well, next time keep your mouth shut. What could you possibly know about the Nukutai?
The boy looks about ready to explode.
Noticing the outburst, Barcarola breaks away from the other guests and hurries over.
Please, everyone, no fighting.
I'm Barcarola, the musical director. Is there anything I can help you with? I'll do all I can to ensure everyone has a pleasant experience.
Before she can reach them, a crisp collision of shells stops Barcarola in her tracks.
...!
What's going on? What do you want?
Her voice holds no restraint in its hostility.
Tutu!
Selone, Toa, stay back. These outsiders could be dangerous.
Dangerous? Have you never heard of me before?
Fatutu looks Barcarola over, eyeing the peculiar wooden contraption by her side.
...
Suppressing her curiosity about this unique object, she steadies her gaze once more.
Whoever you are, I ask that you leave us in peace.
I ... You ...
Barcarola is lost for words. Clearly, her status as a musical star has made her unaccustomed to such remarks.
Ignoring the now flushed girl before her, Fatutu and the other Nukutai retreat back to their corner.
Tutu, thank the tides you came! I wasn't sure what to do.
Hmph. So are we going to take Ms. Grace's offer or not? She promised it would bring our islands back.
Toa casts a fierce glare at Fatutu.
Enough, Toa! These outsiders don't need to know why we're here. And stop mentioning Ms. Grace. Could draw unwanted attention.
But what's there to hide? There's no shame in wanting our home back.
If we don't stand with Ms. Grace, we'll lose Nukutaeao forever!
I want to go home too, probably more than anyone! I already miss Meli's red coral reefs, blue sea, and canoe races.
We'll get through this, Toa. I promise we'll be neighbors again, picking breadfruit and coconut flowers together. But before we accept Ms. Grace's offer, there's a few things that need to be made clear.
And remember, none of these passengers are to blame for what happened to our home, okay?
But Ms. Grace has offered us a way home.
We'll have our islands back, just as they were. Our promised land.
We will go home, Selone. Trust me.
I just need to figure out a few things first.
Starting with this "wonderful new era" she keeps talking about.
...
You seem a little on edge, Chief Kamuta.
Kamuta is pacing back and forth in the cabin.
Ms. Grace, how much longer do we have to wait for this new era to come?
Many of our people have never left Nukutaeao before. We're struggling to adjust. Some have even fallen sick. We can't stay adrift on the sea like this much longer.
Our spirits are low. The shells of some of my people have begun to crack.
He lowers his head to the faintly glowing shells in his palm. They radiate warmth.
Not everyone is strong enough to endure this journey. Please, Ms. Grace. You have to help us.
While it pains me to hear this ...
The journey must go on. You have nowhere to return to, after all. We still have some space below deck. You can use it to store your people's bodies should they die.
Her gaze remains fixed on the crystalline shells in Kamuta's hand.
That's not exactly what we're asking for.
Please, show us another way. Help us like you did when you foresaw the destruction of Meli. I beg of you.
Grace tilts her head, a glimmer of intrigue on her face as she observes the pained expression on Kamuta's face.
I've already shown you a way, haven't I?
...!
A sudden pressure swells in his chest as a sticky black liquid silently drips onto his skin.
You mean joining the Manus?
...
But the Nukutai haven't had a conflict with anyone for centuries. That's why we hid ourselves away from the world.
Difficult to persuade my people to do this.
All we want is for our people to return to familiar soil, to feel our spirits at home. Nothing more.
But Meli is already gone.
Yes, but that doesn't mean we should take revenge on the outside world. It was an act of the sea itself. It would be unjust to blame anyone for it.
What about the torpedo test sites designated over Malaga and Vaipuna? Aren't there people who should answer for that?
It was probably just a mistake.
The area they chose was far from the main islands of Nukutaeao, and hardly anyone fishes there. They may not have realized that my people lived there.
And the oil spill? The wastewater discharge? Were all those fish killed by pollution also just an "act of the sea"?
I ... Please ... We're not looking for conflict.
Of course you're not. After all, they've only stolen everything you've ever held dear ...
Her voice drops abruptly, her next words delivered with the lightness of a feather.
... and arrogantly assumed every inch of this planet is theirs to exploit.
...
War is inevitable, whether you want it or not, Nukutai.
She gently pushes the mask forward. Its dark presence is unavoidable.
But if you join us, you will have an invaluable ally: time.
Grace glances at her pocket watch before slipping it lightly into her pocket.
The window is closing.
The sifting is about to begin.
Both a prompt and a prophecy.
...
The Spirit Shells around Kamuta's neck burn. They cling to his chest as they twist with ferocity.
Has it really come to this? To revenge?
His eyes flash up to the jagged mask on the table.
Dark tendrils extend from it, groping at the air in a silent invitation.
His Spirit Shells are almost scorching.
Oh no, it's quite the opposite. It's salvation.
7. Music or Light
149 linesThe main hall is packed with people, yet there is no music to be heard. A peculiar scene indeed.
Fortunately, the guests don't seem to mind. There is no stage in the world that offers a performance like this one.
Ms. Regulus, as I'm sure you understand, there's a great deal of effort involved in creating a concerto, from the initial spark of inspiration to the careful arrangement of the music to the skill required to play it.
The fact that any concerto has ever been performed at all is nothing short of a miracle!
Barcarola's tone is solemn, like a steadily intensifying march.
As musical director, it is my duty to select the perfect repertoire to bring delight to every listener.
Then, the esteemed passengers of the "Free Breeze" can enjoy their dessert and wine with the finest musical accompaniment.
Oh, you can't be serious. Where's the fun in just sitting there and listening?
I promise you, this lot have had more than enough lazy jazz and swooning piano to last a lifetime!
We need to shake things up—make this voyage the greatest of the century!
How about some '60s rock?
And wouldn't you know it? This visionary former captain has a record player right here with her!
She holds a stack of records high in the air.
Alright, people! Let me hear you cheer!
Music is freedom! It should stir the soul, anytime, anywhere!
Stop, Regulus! I'm the musician here, not you!
Barcarola's cheeks flush red.
The audience claps, amused by the antics on stage. A small flower-adorned girl sits discreetly among them.
These outsiders seem so full of life.
They're nothing like what Ms. Grace described, "full of hatred and hostility."
Fatutu remains alert, her eyes fixed on the stage.
This is my performance! If you really must share your music with us, then, perhaps you should go to the captain and apply to be a cruise musician like me!
With all due respect, Ms. Barcarola.
The point I'm trying to make ...
... is that only a DJ knows what the crowd really wants!
Before Barcarola can protest anymore, the cunning little lion presses the play button on the record player.
In a moment, all the lights on the ship have gone out. Regulus had no idea her record player could produce such effects.
Of course not!
Barcarola finally manages to wrest the microphone from Regulus's hand, but a far more pressing issue than the content of the concert now faces them.
Amid the darkness, discontent quickly arises.
Goddamn! Who's stepping on my brand-new leather shoes?!
Will you please watch yourself?!
I was just about to say the same thing! Let go of my jacket, you moron!
Could you all keep it down? I'm going deaf here!
Oh, no! My wine! And the cheese platter!
The clamor of irritated voices quickly fills the space.
This could turn to total chaos before long. No, I can't let that happen!
I must go check on the master switch.
Barcarola pushes through the crowd as she carves a path to the power room.
Hey! Ms. Barcarola!
Uh. Please let me through, Ms. Elisabeth.
Unfortunately, the guests can't tell a musician from a mechanic through the darkness.
Barcarola! Where are you going?!
Let me give you a hand!
Come on! There aren't as many of them this way!
Unbelievable. It's like you're an escape artist or something!
Uh. I'll take that as a compliment.
It is a compliment! Thank you so much, Ms. Regulus.
A narrow path appears, and Barcarola unceremoniously pushes forward with all her might.
But it seems the surprises for today are far from coming to an end.
Ah!
...!
A faint light flickers across Barcarola's vision, then quickly falls to the ground.
What was that?
A piece of rough bark twisted into the shape of a lampshade, with a compass-like root burning warmly inside, shines through the darkness.
Tutu. Are you okay?
I'm fine. How's the Sea Mother's Eye?
Solid as ever, of course. It takes more than a few knocks to damage Nukutai craftsmanship!
*sneer* I knew getting too close to those oafs would bring trouble.
Before the situation can escalate any further, Barcarola picks up the oddly shaped lamp.
She is quickly basked in its glow.
What's this?
Hah! What did I say? Of course you have no idea what this is.
We form palm bark into lampshades about the size of a coconut, then tie fat-soaked compass grass inside.
We call it Sea Mother's Eye. Every Nukutai knows how to make one.
They're way better than those noisy, buzzing lightbulbs!
Wait, why are we even telling her this?
Shh.
Before he can say another word, Fatutu hastily pulls Toa aside.
We need to lower their guard.
Huh?
Toa eyes Fatutu suspiciously.
So that we can earn their trust.
If we don't understand our enemies, how can we help Ms. Grace with her mission and rebuild our home?
Oh ...
Besides, we can't just leave them to shout and run around! It'll disturb our people's rest!
Toa finally breathes a sigh of relief.
Trust me. That girl will thank us for this later.
And then, we can get all the information we need from her!
Then, we should make more Sea Mother's Eyes and hand them out to the outsiders!
Now you've got it.
By the waves, Tutu, you really are clever! No wonder the elders always listen to you.
Despite this praise, Fatutu turns away, a quiet look of doubt on her face.
Regardless, the sound of bark scraping grows as her people get to work.
One by one, the Sea Mother's Eyes light up.
They are passed through rough and soft hands alike, illuminating bronze skin, flax-colored irises, and chestnut hair.
As the warm lights make their way through the crowd, the clamor subsides. No more panicked shouts, no more arguments, only a unique harmony.
What peculiar little things. Reminds me of my days on the fishing boat. I always loved spotting the lighthouse on our way back. These look just like it.
The craftsmanship is remarkable. You'd be hard-pressed to find something of this standard in a factory these days.
They remind me of the things my grandma and I used to make when I was little.
Haha, she could even carve a whistle out of a parsnip!
Fatutu glances at her fellow Nukutai. Relived memories and longing are etched into their faces.
I'm getting more and more confused by Ms. Grace's words.
The guests lean on one another, chatting happily under the warm glow of the lamps.
Ms. Barcarola.
The timid voice of a child reaches Barcarola's ears.
I ... I wanna go home.
...
The scene before her is a mess. This is certainly no time for a symphony performance.
Among the crowd, she sees Regulus shaking her head.
A single note drifts from her Crackling Box.
Then, a harmonious melody of joyful, lively, and contrasting sounds.
Woah!!
Their joy illuminated by the lamps, the guests start to clap along.
Attention, passengers!
The "Free Breeze" is currently experiencing a power outage due to a fuse blown by a cargo leak in the lower deck. We ask that everyone remain calm.
We sincerely apologize for the inconvenience. To make your wait more comfortable, we'll be offering unlimited ice cream shortly.
Additionally, since we're approaching the habitat of the Serres, we're expecting an increase in turbulence and noise as we work to ward them off.
We appreciate your understanding.
...
The hall brightens again, and the guests bid one another farewell, the lamps still tightly held in their hands.
Barcarola exhales deeply as Regulus approaches her, a smug look on her face.
You were right, Ms. Regulus.
You owe me one now. So, how about a little reciprocity?
She rubs her fingers together mischievously.
Say, letting me have a rock session on the ship?
Do you promise you won't cause any trouble?
Cross my heart!
Alright, you can do it. But—
Permission granted, Regulus doesn't wait to hear her extra condition. She's already dashed off, speaking as she goes.
Don't forget to thank the girl who made the lamp!
Barcarola gently paces over to the darkened corner that has become the gathering place of the Nukutai.
...!
Tutu was right! The stupid girl's back!
Shh!
...?
I must say I don't appreciate being called an "oaf" or "stupid."
But I would like to thank you for your help back there.
What?
On behalf of the whole crew, you have our respect.
Oh. Uh, what do we do now?
Tutu never said they'd be so friendly.
The bewildered islanders exchange glances.
Tutu?
Where did she go?
8. An Old Song at Sea
134 linesI've learned so much about the outside world since I boarded this ship, so ...
Why do I feel even more confused?
...
I trust my people. They're good and kind, and they've never lied to me.
You just have to look at their Spirit Shells to see it. The songs and dances of Meli nourish the Shells, and the purity of my people's souls color their surface in the most beautiful patterns.
And Ms. Grace, she's been good to us, too.
...
She warned us about the destruction of Meli, saving us from the flood. And she showed us the world as it really is.
She even wants us to be part of her plan.
...
Our ancestral shells have also told us how terrible the world outside is—that it's a place with sanguma witches, Nakarua serpents, and all kinds of other beasts.
But ...
Those scenes replay again and again in her mind.
The casual conversations, the warm smiles, and the glowing lamps in their hands.
But now I'm here, on this ship full of outsiders, and I feel that they're just like us.
Past and present blur together as Fatutu searches her memories, leaving her dizzy and overwhelmed.
In her daze, she has wandered into another part of the ship. It isn't until a voice snaps her out of her thoughts that she realizes where she is.
Hello, young lady! What are you doing out here all by yourself?
Don't just stand there. Come on in!
One helmsman gives her a hearty pat on the shoulder.
No need to apologize, my dear.
You're more than welcome. You've saved us old folks from sitting here in silence till we reach shore.
Haha! Charlie's just happy to have someone new to tell his stories to!
I bet Esam will jump at the chance to show off how he drives off those Serres, too.
Serres? I've heard they're a real headache for passing ships.
But I've never seen one with my own eyes.
Fatutu curiously peers out the window.
A strange yet familiar hum fills the air.
*roar*
Well, well, it seems this young lady knows a thing or two about the sea!
How about you give us a hand, eh?
I ...
He extends a rough hand to her.
Fatutu takes a hasty step back, but the hand remains warmly held out before her.
She has seen many hands like his before. Callused, working hands, like those of Grandma Penu, Uncle Tarek, Grandpa Natano, and many of the other Nukutai. There's something comforting in its familiarity.
Me? I'm not sure I know how to ...
Don't worry. It's almost too easy!
These Serres are afraid of loud noises, and the "Free Breeze" has plenty of speakers on board!
The sea is with us today.
Of course it is! For how long we've sailed its waves, why wouldn't it be?
The helmsmen exchange a few winks and shoulder pats. There is a clear camaraderie between them.
They roll up their sleeves as they prepare for their performance.
Get ready, folks! Port the helm!
Course 270, hard starboard!
Slow down to five knots. Watch the bow wave!
Turn on the speakers! Time to chase off some sea monsters.
The seasoned navigator issues a steady flow of instructions.
The cruise ship slowly turns, skillfully avoiding the reach of the sea monster's "tentacles."
Little girl!
He gives Fatutu a harmonica and asks if she can play it.
Uh ... No ...
Don't worry. Anything you play will do. Can't be worse than what Esam has to offer.
I can hear you, you know!
The sailors joke and jostle as they clamor for their respective instruments.
I grieve to leave my native home.
I grieve to leave my comrades all.
They burst into song.
Come on, join in!
The harmonica finds its way to her lips.
Melodious music, off-key yet heartfelt, drifts out toward the sea.
This is just like those nights by the bonfire in Meli.
But a poor simple sailor just like me,
Must be tossed and turned in the deep dark sea.
Farewell to Nova Scotia, the sea-bound coast.
Let your mountains dark and dreary be.
For when I'm far away on the briny ocean tossed,
Will you ever heave a sigh or a wish for me?
...
*roar*
One nameless sea shanty after another tears through the fog, with lights shimmering on the sea's surface like embers after a festival bonfire.
I ...
Realization strikes her. She finally understands her role.
Ms. Grace!
The outside world is indeed full of dangers, but there is less to fear than you think.
I'll help you through it.
Advice and reassurances echo in her mind. She suddenly feels weak.
Hm?
She scurries off.
Her questions hang in the air, and so too does a knuckle at a door.
Come in.
Timekeeper, I hope you didn't have too much difficulty during the power outage.
Not at all, Sonetto. It actually gave me the opportunity to try out X's latest invention—the Bouncing Bulb.
It's very interesting, a little draining though.
Would you like to try out one of these, then?
Did you make this, Sonetto?
I did. Ms. Selone from Nukutaeao taught me how to make it. It's called a Sea Mother's Eye.
She told me every household in Meli lights them during storms to help guide those at sea safely home.
She said, "With this, no one will ever be lost in the dark."
Thank you, Sonetto. And what a lovely saying.
Sonetto breathes a sigh of relief, but her eyes remain fixed on the Sea Mother's Eye.
...
After this mission, we should be able to apply for a field investigation in Italy.
Sonetto is unable to hide her delight.
But let's focus on this mission first.
May I borrow your communicator?
There's something I need to verify.
Of course.
*beep*
Connecting to Madam Z of the St. Pavlov Foundation.
*static*
*buzz*
The person you're trying to reach is currently unavailable due to communication interference. Please leave a message after the beep.
Huh?
*buzz*
Just as I suspected. Communications are blocked.
Someone's jamming the signal.
Do you think it's Manus Vindictae?
It's possible. The flyer proved that this ship has some kind of association with them. We need to stay vigilant.
Regulus should know about this. I'll go find her.
A heart-wrenching scream echoes from afar, reverberating through the halls of the ship.
NOOOO!
Regulus!
They hurry over to the source of the scream.
Regulus! Are you alright?!
Sonetto stops in her tracks.
The scene before her is all too familiar, for it has played out countless times at the LSCC.
Ahem, beautiful day, isn't it?
Ignoring the fact that Regulus just dropped her sunglasses, Ulrich calmly pours coffee into his energy intake.
Mr. Ulrich? What are you doing here?
The ferrofluid swirls in a distorted arc.
Ahem. Good day, Timekeeper, Researcher Regulus, Ms. Sonetto.
Is this really the disguise you went with?
Wait a minute!
Vertin, did you know he'd be here?
Listen, there's no way I'm paying for even half an extra ticket. In fact, he should be paying for me!
Well, this might take a while to explain.
9. Science Salon
84 linesAn unofficial meeting on the "Artificial Storm" project was held before the "Free Breeze" set sail from Australia.
Did you wake up with a glitch this morning, Ulrich?
The "Storm" has already taken so many lives, and now you're planning to intentionally bring another one upon us?!
Quit your worrying, Jonathan. The "Artificial Storm" will be under strict control, and you're not even on the research team.
Besides, there are some issues we still need to fix, so we've come to a bit of a standstill for now.
I promise, you won't wake up to find the building engulfed by the "Storm."
Sorry, are you saying that you've already started?!
Ulrich, I have to warn you.
Ever since you found that satellite, you've been pushing past the limits of Laplace's regulations.
You've accessed materials from other branches, used valuable resources for your own purposes, and run experiments without proper clearance.
What baseless claims, Penelope! I'll have you know that everything I've done has been approved by the HQ director.
Director? We don't have a damn director!
But we do have a "substitute director." So there.
He gives a pointed nod in Enigma's direction.
For the last time, I'm not the "substitute director." No one can substitute for Madam Lucy.
That familiar heavy knock on the table resounds once more.
But let's set that aside. We're here to figure out what to do with the satellite, not to stage an intervention for Ulrich.
The solution's as clear as day, my friends!
We'll do exactly what they did in Plesetsk during the third "Storm." Find someone brave and send them into space!
He's right. Why don't we just build another satellite and see how it handles the "Storm"?
A sarcastic applause suddenly erupts.
Wow, what an amazing idea! Truly a stroke of genius! So, we're talking about a controlled experiment, right?
That means we'll send not just one, but dozens of satellites, all carrying different items!
What's the problem with that?
Oh, nothing. The budget team will be thrilled at the idea. Here's a better one: We sit tight and wait till the "Storm" sends us back to 1995.
And bingo! Surprise!! There's our satellite, orbiting around the Earth once again.
Medicine Pocket, please mind your tone in the meeting room.
Oh sure, just as soon as they stop trying to waste all our research funds.
I'm with Researcher Medicine Pocket here.
There's no need to launch more satellites. We should be focusing on the "Artificial Storm" project.
Ulrich knocks the table, drawing everyone's attention.
The project has made substantial progress!
...
I have collected every item that was once on the "Regulus Satellite," including the space seeds from Plesetsk. You have no idea how difficult that was; let me tell you! It was easier to get Regulus's record!
Still, you probably didn't need to steal it, Ulrich!
You say that, but I've heard that it isn't going all that smoothly!
Accelerating the reaction of asymmetrical nuclide R with fixed-frequency sound waves so as to simulate the "Storm." It sounds impressive, but ...
What's the payoff? Have you found the key material that provides immunity from the "Storm"?
Good point, Lukas. I never claimed the experiment was perfect. In fact, I'll be the first to admit that it has some serious procedural flaws.
Huh?
Through 26 microscale "Artificial Storms," I tested seven different space seeds, an astronomical spectrometer, a high-speed photometer, some obsidian crystals, and a Lycopus lucidus talisman.
None of them endured the trials.
So, what do we do now? Just give up?
No!
Ulrich awkwardly clears his throat.
But I have used all the asymmetrical nuclide R that we had in the warehouse.
What?!
Medicine Pocket springs to their feet like a shocked animal.
Sit down, Medicine Pocket! Jonathan, go get them a stress ball!
No! I can shout all I want, okay, "substitute director"?!
Medicine Pocket slams the table, sending papers flying.
Ulrich! All the asymmetrical nuclide R? It's all gone?!
I had to use it. It's just standard consumption, like in any other experiment! And I got results!
With that amount of resources, of course you'd find something, dumbass! Even a broken clock's right twice a day!
Keep at it if you want. You're gonna smash that dead end head-on!
I don't see why you're commenting on my work. We're not even in the same department.
Ulrich presses down on the table to ease the vibrations shaking the ferrofluid in his tank.
Because you used my materials! That was most of the nuclide R from both Laplace and the Foundation!
You have to be kidding me! You get all you want while I'm here, like some chump, filling out endless forms just to get a few drops!
The badge on Medicine Pocket's chest creaks under the stress of their shouts.
Next time, just give me the funds and nuclide, and I'll be more than happy to run a few laps in the "Storm" with that crap from the satellite and see what happens!
We would never endanger the life of a researcher like that.
That's why we should launch another satellite! No need to risk anyone's life, especially since we've got plenty of colleagues with aeronautics experience.
Can't do that. Our best space expert is still in the Laplace care unit.
...
The smoke temporarily clears, and finally, one member returns the meeting to its main agenda.
So, Ulrich, what's the next step with your experiment?
I'm taking it outside, of course.
The richest deposits of asymmetrical nuclide R aren't in the lab or the Foundation's warehouse. They're out there in the real world!
...?
We've been overlooking how the density of nuclide R has affected our experiment results.
Come on, Ulrich, that's just an excuse. Where would you find a higher nuclide R density than in a Laplace lab?
That might be the exact problem. The environment here is too controlled, too clean. The "Storm" has never been the manifestation of order, but of chaos.
...
And how exactly do you plan on finding chaos?
The scientists are fighting tooth and nail to secure the budgets for their individual projects.
Everyone, please!
If we just sit here arguing instead of getting out there and doing something, those sneaky researchers at Institutum Lorentz are going to get ahead of us!
He slams a butterfly-patterned envelope heavily onto the table, adding yet more fuel to the fiery chaos.
Lorentz. That strange secret society?
Let's see what kind of bull they're spouting this time!
No, Medicine Pocket! Just toss the letter into the shredder!
Hurried footsteps echo, and a clear voice cuts through the chaos.
Ladies and gentlemen, my apologies for interrupting your debate. The St. Pavlov Foundation has passed a new resolution.
10. Piracy—Not the Fun Kind
71 linesSimone's statement is definitely a much more damaging bomb.
Ms. Simone, did you just say something about the Foundation?
Are we not moving off-topic? We were discussing our efforts to identify substances immune to the "Storm." What is all this about the Foundation?
No idea, but it's sure to be the most cheerful, positive, wonderful news.
That'll teach you to run Madam Bucket Head out of town. Now it's going to be those Foundation dimwits calling the shots, ha.
I won't stand for the Foundation ordering Laplace around. I'll set things straight with them later, you have my word.
He raises his hands in exasperation before promptly dropping them and slumping back into his chair.
In fact, Ms. Simone, you may relay my message now.
I understand your concerns, Mr. Enigma. But given our present circumstances, the Foundation's involvement may have a bright side.
She unfolds a neatly prepared document.
The resolution the Foundation relayed to me was principally concerned with your "Artificial Storm" project, Mr. Ulrich.
...?
What? Did you switch gears on us, Ulrich?
For flux's sake! All I did was ask for a little support.
Speaking of, the Foundation also sent through their approval for your other requests.
Mostly, anyway. They agreed to supply the majority of your requested materials, including replenishing a portion of our asymmetrical nuclide R, and they've dispatched field investigators to assist us.
Additionally, they've done preliminary screenings on the locations you mentioned and confirmed they meet the specifications of our experiments.
The Foundation has never been this generous with us before.
...!
Joy rushes through Ulrich. He feels almost in a daze.
Don't go popping the champagne just yet, Ulrich!
Our new bosses aren't going to come anywhere close to replacing all the asymmetrical nuclide R you've wasted!
Ulrich ignores them, his gaze fixated on the letter in Simone's hands.
Still, it's all too easy. What's the catch?
They want to witness our results—firsthand.
The table is smacked once again.
Ulrich pounds the table once more, sending waves through the ferrofluid.
They also sent over another possible location that they haven't been able to confirm.
A ship.
The Foundation has requested that you investigate it personally.
The Timekeeper will brief you on the details.
...
Fine, Fish Tank, you're off the hook for now.
Regulus glances at them, then her eyes fix on Ulrich, who is calmly removing his disguise.
I wouldn't think of it.
Fab, and you're not angling that I foot the bill for this excursion, right?
...
Ulrich clears his throat before steering the conversation back on track.
The Foundation's intel appears accurate. After some preliminary checks, I am certain this will be an ideal locale to conduct our experiments.
I've never seen such intense readings of asymmetrical nuclide R outside of the "Storm."
Only if necessary.
With my record! You've got to be off your rocker, mate!
Ulrich quickly abates her protestations by presenting her with the record.
Not at all. It's time it was returned to its rightful owner.
...!
She embraces the record like an old friend.
Oh, my darling, oh, my treasure, welcome home! I'll broadcast your tracks on Radio APPLe for 72 hours straight and hold the rockin'-est party ever just for you! Oh! You've got my word!
The joy of this reunion pours out of her, before a graver possibility flashes across her mind.
Hold on. You're not about to withhold my funds, are you?!
Fret not, Regulus.
Given its special significance to you, we made its composition analysis our first priority. Now that the first step is done, I'm more than happy to return it to you.
But what about your experiments?
Clutching her "little thing" in her hands, Regulus hesitates, then reluctantly hands it to Ulrich.
Ulrich clears his throat again, donning the feigned formality of his "disguise" once more.
Not to worry. I've already made arrangements.
He proudly raises his coat to unveil Laplace's latest masterpiece.
Dozens of identical "little thing" records are stacked neatly together.
We went to great lengths to ensure these replicas were identical in every way. We even reproduced the ink used in the signature.
Identical down to their heart and soul, courtesy of Laplace craftsmanship. We've achieved complete consistency in both composition and appearance.
Ulrich's proud tone is cut off by Regulus's exclamation of surprise.
What?!
Well, I've got to hand it to you; they're dead-ringers for the real thing.
But this is piracy, and not the fun kind! Musical piracy!
...
Drastic times call for drastic measures. I hope you'll find it in your heart to forgive us, Regulus.
11. The Hateful Hometown
146 linesCumulus clouds drift slowly across the night sky like the rolling waves of the sea, the countless stars glinting gently behind them.
The damp sea breeze has laid a heavy layer of moisture on the surfaces of the ship. Standing at the observation window, the captain's face betrays no emotion.
There is a faint, hesitant sound at her door.
...!
Oh, Ms. Fatutu, I hadn't expected you to visit.
Grace's face lights up, every inch radiating joy.
She eagerly opens the door, affectionately pulling Fatutu into the room.
I must say it's a welcome relief from the onslaught of greedy businessmen and boorish officials.
All puff and no substance—bloated, lifeless, they remind me of a few specimens of decay from my collection.
Decaying specimens? Ms. Grace, you mean bodi—
Hush. Let's just leave things at that.
She squints as she studies the faintly protruding veins on the girl's hands, imagining the blood coursing anxiously through them.
So then, you're here to talk about something else? Go ahead.
Not at all, my dear. We are friends, aren't we?
We are venturing into the unknown. So, it is little surprise that you feel lost, but disorientation is a dangerous enemy. I am more than happy to help.
...
Relax and keep an open mind, dear. We have a long night ahead.
A few soft, subtle noises come from outside, but they are not enough to disrupt the intimate conversation between the two.
Grace sets down her pocket watch, her gaze drifting past the slightly ajar door, a faint smile teasing her lips.
The thing is, I tried to ignore the outside world, just like you said, but I failed.
Fatutu instinctively lowers her head.
The idea of raising a spear against people I know so little about, even if it was to avenge my home.
I thought I had to learn more about these outsiders, to understand them. I'm sorry I went against your advice.
I thought that learning about them would harden my resolve.
I thought that I would hate them from the depths of my soul, that the hatred would be so strong that I'd feel no remorse, that I would see in them what you and Manus Vindictae do.
But ...
In the face of her wavering resolve, Fatutu bows her head in shame.
Instead, after interacting with the people here ...
The noisy music hall, the bustling tourists, the bright lights, the sea shanties—they all linger in her mind.
Fatutu, my dear. There's no shame in having second thoughts.
The gentleness of her response leaves Fatutu momentarily stunned.
How could you not? This was but your first glimpse of a world so much wider than you knew.
But you'll soon realize that it is nothing more than a dying corpse, its lungs still clinging on to its last breath.
The face rots first, you know? It's a nasty scene, I assure you. Those shrinking, putrefying eyeballs are always a headache for taxidermists.
Next, the chest cavity. It rots out from the inside, bloating with noxious gases produced by its decomposing flesh until it's ready to pop like a party balloon.
Even at this stage, if you were to hold your breath and look only to the limbs, you might marvel at the artisanship—such a perfect creation! Yet, it dies all the same. So it goes.
Fatutu has never encountered such a warm and spirited captain before.
Do you see the world any clearer now? Take your time. Think it through.
Grace lightly taps her finger on the board beside her, as if keeping time with the faint footsteps outside.
Lost in thought, Fatutu remains oblivious to it all.
...
The outsiders are different from what I expected. Ms. Grace, are you sure they're truly evil?
Heh heh.
Grace glances out the window.
Through the porthole, a strange vibrating sound grows louder and more distinct.
...?
Following Grace's gaze, Fatutu notices an enormous "shadow" on the other side of the porthole.
Can parasols and railings really create such an enormous silhouette?
They're cunning, menacing, and at times, have even been known to engage in eavesdropping.
The "shadow" creeps closer toward them, stealthy and deliberate.
M-Ms. Grace, watch out! It's ... it's some kind of monster!
There is no doubt. This cutting description has angered the shadowy intruder.
Huh?
I-It's here!
Scrambling, Fatutu grabs whatever is nearby—signal lights, brooms, and heaving lines—and flings them out the door.
I'll protect you, Ms. Grace!
The commotion seems to have come to an end.
Is it dead?
Panting heavily, Fatutu musters the courage to rush out of the cabin.
The figure on the deck is far removed from the terrifying enemy she envisioned.
Oh! It's you, Barcarola.
*sob*
A familiar tear-streaked face emerges from the aftermath of the chaos.
The captain, however, seems unfazed by the disheveled state of her cruise staff.
Ms. Barcarola, what a pleasure to see you.
Have you lost your mind, Fatutu?!
I've been looking all over the ship for you to thank you for the lamps you made!
This is a funny way of saying "you're welcome."
Not even the rudest stunad in Cremona would attack someone for saying thanks!
An unfamiliar term springs from her lips, sparking Fatutu's curiosity.
Cremona? Where's that?
That's really not what matters here!
Settle down please, ladies. This was only a small misunderstanding, wasn't it?
As both your captain and your friend, I hope that you might be able to resolve this. I do believe I could see you two becoming fast friends.
The captain's overtures are anything but subtle.
Fatutu here is eager to learn about the outside world. And I'm sure you must have many stories to share, don't you?
Consider it a favor in exchange for those Sea Mother's Eyes.
...
It simply wouldn't do for a captain to leave these two in such a state.
Why don't you take a seat, Ms. Barcarola?
She moves aside, extending two delicate hands to them.
The girls take her hands, allowing themselves to be drawn close. Then, they lean together on the railing.
The sea breeze sweeps across the deck, dispersing whatever awkwardness there was between them.
You were quick to gloss over your hometown. Cremona, wasn't it?
Grace's voice is gentle and soft. Barcarola finally loosens the tension in her strings, speaking as she looks out over the moonlit water.
Cremona, the "City of Violins," as they say. Sì, I was born in that awful, dreary old place. But I don't like to talk about it, Ms. Grace.
Fatutu examines Barcarola's expression.
Hmm. But it sounds like you still miss your home, so why speak of it that way? Is there something wrong with it?
In Nukutaeao, when we find something rotted in our village, we wrap it up in stinky grass and throw it in the ocean.
Do you outsiders not do this as well?
W-Well, it's not completely rotted exactly. It's just ...
She furrows her brow, seemingly searching for the right words.
In Cremona, everything is bound up with the violin. How it's made, how it's played, even the science of it. It fills the air, and every conversation. You can't walk to the restaurant without tripping over a virtuoso!
They come from Rome, Berlin, London, New York, Nairobi, Tokyo, Uppsala, people from far and wide, all crammed into one town. Not a day goes by without a concert, a symphony, or a festival musicale.
Am I misunderstanding you? Because to the Nukutai, the idea of a place with music and festivals every day sounds very fun.
That's where you're wrong, Miss. It's no fun at all.
At least, for me. To be Cremonese is to take pride in its music, its history, and above all, its violins.
And you must learn to love the violin, the viola, the violoncello, and the bass! Because there is nothing else! Every quartet is a string quartet. Every concerto is Vivaldi! Strings, strings, strings! The monotony is unbearable!
The world has so very many instruments as diverse and as varied as the people that fill it! Even the shell around your neck could sing if you knew just where to tap it!
But not in Cremona. That's why I speak of it that way, Fatutu. Because, if I had stayed there, I would never have seen the music of the world and its instruments, and my Crackling Box would never have been able to know their sounds.
The Nukutai don't have many instruments—not so many as you anyway—but we were never bored with what we had.
I'm certain that your island holds great beauty beyond its music. If ever we grow tired of singing and dancing, we'd go searching for shells or swimming in the reefs.
*sigh* You still have much to learn about the world beyond your islands.
Then you have no intention of ever returning home, Ms. Barcarola?
A seemingly most ordinary question.
Return? No, never!
They're too set in their ways, like old fossils. My vision of music grew beyond them, and I did too.
Barcarola cups her hands around her mouth and hollers out into the fog-covered horizon.
I won't force myself back into their little world!
Your determination is admirable indeed.
Glad to hear it. Then my position is safe for another day.
How could it not be? You are the very star of the "Free Breeze."
Uh-huh!
Barcarola's face lights up with renewed pride.
It's a place of little interest to anyone, not even worthy of naming.
Her demeanor is far more composed than the rambling chatter of Barcarola.
They say a musician must be free of attachments to be truly creative. Perhaps this is true of captains as well.
No. That can't be right!
The Nukutai believe that to stray from our home is the death of the spirit. If we travel too far and too long, our Spirit Shells develop cracks that no amount of Nukuglue can mend.
And from these cracks come an intense sadness, the elders call it ...
Home sick.
Homesickness—sì, we have this word as well. The sailors aboard often ask me to play the songs of their youth when they are missing their homes. So many different melodies. Thankfully, my Crackling Box has all kinds of instruments to suit their needs.
I imagine it must be difficult for your people now.
If you'd like, I could learn to play some of your songs and perform them. I'd be more than happy to help, after all you've done.
I'm more than happy to help, Fatutu! It is my job, after all!
The girls' conversation seems to stretch on forever, but the increasing frequency with which they rub their eyes clearly marks the passage of time.
Eventually, the sun climbs above the sea, painting its surface a satin blue, and, as the ship's horn sounds, gentle ripples spread across its surface.
It appears the sun has caught up with us, ladies.
As she rubs her eyes, Barcarola catches a glimpse of the captain lightly shaking her pocket watch and remembers something equally important.
I promised Ms. Regulus a rock-and-roll concert. But I haven't even asked her what instruments she needs!
Bye, girls!
With hurried footsteps clattering down the stairs, Barcarola quickly vanishes.
Thank you for talking with us, Ms. Grace.
She has waited for Barcarola to be clearly out of sight before speaking.
Don't mention it. I only hope that it was helpful for you.
...
12. Clashing Genres
100 linesThe air is buzzing with anticipation.
Regulus stands on stage, cheering and dancing in a lively twist.
Hello, "Free Breeze"! Listen up all my rock 'n' roll stars, fans, and wannabes!
You lot are in luck, because you are about to experience the greatest, grandest, most radical rock 'n' roll party of the era!
Woo-hoo!
Now get up on those feet and drag those little legs of yours on deck. Because it's time to get those old bones jumping!
Just think, folks, one day you'll be sitting by a fireplace, telling your grandkiddies that you were here. This is the night you become a legend!
Hi, Regulus!
Barcarola bursts into the room.
Well, if it isn't our star musician!
This isn't what we agreed on. I thought we'd make our preparations together.
Umm, what preparations?
Barcarola pats her chest as she tries to steady her breathing.
To begin with, we must do a survey of our guests' musical preferences, then prepare a song list to match. Then we must carefully organize our transitions to optimize the flow of the concert.
Wait, wait, wait!
Arrangements? Concert? What are you on about? This is rock 'n' roll, love! A proper rock 'n' roll party!
No arrangements? No song list? This isn't what I was taught to do in Cremona.
As musicians, we have a responsibility to ensure that every listener enjoys an exquisite and seamless experience. We must allow them to savor the emotion and artistry of each piece!
Sounds a bit stuffy, doesn't it? C'mon, no reason to get all hung up on the details. Music is freedom! The only thing that matters in rock 'n' roll are the vibes!
Regulus clearly holds no space for unnecessary formalities.
You don't use your brain. You feel it in your heart, babe.
Guess your miserable old music teachers never taught you that, eh?
Barcarola furrows her brow, but eventually her expression relaxes.
Ha! Cheers, love. You're an inspiration to musical directors the whole world over!
...
Flattery is often more effective than any incantation.
You can find the record player in the locker backstage.
Regulus immediately darts backstage.
Fab!
Turn off the lights.
Connect the sound system, check the stylus, pick a record.
Position the tonearm, raise your hands high, and get ready for a—
Is this what you call "heavy metal"?
Uh, what's that? No, no! First up is an iconic taste of psychedelic rock!
Uhh. But I haven't even found the power socket yet.
The clanging of metal echoes from the lower decks, growing louder and clearer.
Then, an eerie, otherworldly shrieking follows.
Followed by what feels like an earthquake.
While the guests exchange uneasy glances, Sonetto has sensed that something is amiss.
Timekeeper, those sounds are familiar, aren't they?
Metallic percussion sounds, sprinkled with screams of pain ...
It's Manus Vindictae!
Those blackened, bizarre metallic creatures rear their heads once more.
*roar* Sift ...
A torrent of metal instruments surges up from the stairwells to the lower levels, like oil gushing out of a pipe.
And ... trial ...! *roar*
The sudden commotion sends the guests into an uproar.
They huddle together, whispering nervously to one another.
What?! These persistent pests again?! Which hellhole did they crawl out of this time?!
Don't worry, Ms. Regulus. I won't let them disturb your rock party!
She stands calmly but fiercely before them.
You oafish barnacles are ruining the atmosphere and scaring our guests! I very much doubt you're doing this with the approval of Captain Grace.
You should be working in the engine room, not making noise up on deck!
Have you all forgotten the Seafarers' Code of Conduct?
They appear unmoved. The Foundation's investigators step forward, immediately taking command of the situation.
Sonetto, Regulus, get the crowd out of here.
Get ready to engage with these Manus thugs.
Please, Miss. There's no need for alarm. I know they may look a little strange, but they're just engine crew. They work here.
And as such, as our musical director, I have some authority over them. Moreover, it is my duty to ensure all our guests have a safe and enjoyable stay.
Now I see how the Manus kept themselves hidden.
Fatutu quickly finds herself trapped amid the restless crowd.
She stands on tiptoe, dazzled by the countless overlapping shadows and rays of sunlight.
Is that Barcarola? What's she doing over there?
Amid curious and astonished gazes, Barcarola gradually approaches the dark mass of Manus followers.
If you've come to be entertained, or perhaps for some music lessons, I would be more than happy to assist you in the crew quarters later.
However, your musical talents will not be needed at this time, as we already have a scheduled performance.
*roar* New ... era—
No heed is taken. Instead, a hammer is raised high.
Stop them!
More and more Manus disciples fill the perimeter of the hall, surrounding those inside like trembling penned sheep.
W-What's happening!? Why are they acting crazy?
She stands resolutely, putting herself between the guests and the crazed Manus disciples, her heavy breathing condensing on the neck of her Crackling Box.
As the musical director of the "Free Breeze," I can't allow you to harm our guests.
Hmph, enough of your nonsense, foolish outsider!
A flash of cold light streaks through the air.
A shell-shaped ripple appears, deflecting the icy arrow.
...!
Are you okay, Barcarola?
Fatutu darts out from the crowd, rushing over to Barcarola with no regard for the surprised stares of the Nukutai behind her.
What are you doing, Fatutu?!
That is an outsider! Have you forgotten your duty to your people?
A stern, familiar reprimand booms in her ears.
After steadying the shaken musician, Fatutu nervously turns around.
Her brother's figure looms in the shadows of the crowd. For the first time, this image deeply unsettles her.
No, never, but ...
Kamuta, this is not defending our home, and it doesn't feel like avenging it either.
What we suffered was not these people's fault! There has to be a better solution to all this!
This isn't our way. It isn't right.
Fatutu stares fearfully as her brother draws closer.
As he comes into the light, she finds herself staring into a face that is both familiar and strange.
Kamuta ...
...
Kamuta gently shakes his head. Inky black liquid drips from the seams of his mask.
Fatutu, we have no choice.
13. End of the Sun
121 linesThe sound of scraping metal brings an end to the pumping rock music, painting a look of solemnity and fear on the faces of every guest.
A lithe figure steps gracefully onto the stage.
We should raise a toast. One and all.
For we're in luck's good graces to be aboard this ship.
A ship, hmm, perhaps one ought to think of it more as an ark.
The guests exchange uneasy glances. After a long silence, one guest hesitantly breaks the silence with a question.
Just what are you getting at?
Oh, I get it! Is this some kind of surprise theme party, like a murder mystery?! Is that right, Ms. Barcarola?
Barcarola looks bewildered. The captain's sudden and strange appearance on the stage was certainly not part of any performance. At least, not one she had prepared.
No, I didn't plan for any of this.
You aren't entirely wrong though, Mr. Matthews, for this is certainly a surprise, if not so much a party as a ceremony.
Allow me to congratulate you, our honored guests. Each of you, with your unique talents, resources, and powerful connections, have earned a chance to join Manus Vindictae.
If this is some kind of joke, Captain, I don't find it funny! So how about you knock it off!
There's no joke at all. Unless you plan on throwing away your precious opportunity to join us in the new era.
What the hell is that supposed to mean? Have you gone insane!?
In their fear and anger, the guests make to leave, but a young man in a mask swiftly blocks the doorway.
How dare you blaspheme our savior?!
Toa, ever since you put on that mask, you've been acting strangely, like a different person.
She can hardly recognize her dear friend at all.
You're wrong, Selone! I was lost after we left Meli. But now, I've never felt so certain of myself.
You must ready yourself for the mask trial, too. We must all be willing to sacrifice to bring our people into the new era!
He proudly pounds his chest as he glares disdainfully at the trembling crowd before him.
As for these ignorant outsiders, hmph, they will never understand the depth of the crimes they've committed or the punishment they deserve!
Calm down, Toa. Don't bother with these outsiders. They only care about themselves.
Only the "Storm" can bring the change we need.
With bizarre masks, fervent prophecies, and the clinking of misshapen shells, they perform their unannounced stage play.
Its "audience" cowers together in fear.
Lunatics!
Timekeeper, it seems as though the islanders aboard are working with Manus Vindictae!
There's no telling what else the Manus have up their sleeve. We need to call for support as soon as possible.
But our communications are jammed.
Regulus, are you able to reach Mr. Ulrich?
I should be. I've got no clue where he's at now. He dashed off with the roaring machine, mumbling something about "sound wave frequency" and "nuclide R."
Still, I might as well give it a shot, if I can still recall Laplace's internal frequency, that is.
Sonetto, we must calm the situation before things escalate further.
On it!
Orders are issued methodically.
Grace watches with interest as a navy top hat moves through the crowd. A gentle smile creeps across her face.
Ladies and gentlemen.
Perhaps you have yet to understand what the "Storm" really is.
No, perhaps we don't. Because I remember what you wrote in all the flyers!
The "Free Breeze" is equipped with a double-hull and the most advanced communication systems available, capable of contacting rescue and support under any circumstances.
Yeah, and something about a stabilizing system. Why should we be worried about some heavy weather?
Or were you lying to us?
Oh, the specifications of the ship are all very much true. No natural weather phenomenon could endanger us here.
However, the "Storm" I speak of is not a mere matter of churning wind and thunder. And no double-hull nor stabilizing system could stand against it.
So, what the hell is this "Storm"?
It is a cleansing—a deluge that will come to eradicate all the sickness of this world.
...!
And an opportunity, a chance to reverse our course. All that is asked of you is an insignificant price.
Reverse? Price? What are you talking about?
In the '90s, veins turned into wires. In the '80s, skulls turned into geometric shapes. Oh, and the '60s, what fun we had then!
The entire world became a pop art spectacle!
And Manus Vindictae have seen us through each one, for all these many years.
The crowd's murmuring grows louder and more chaotic.
So, you're saying that the world is going to be transformed?
And something weird will happen to our bodies, too?
You're exactly right.
And the Manus were behind all of this? Why?!
Now, now, don't be so harsh on us. We've made heroic efforts to cleanse this world of its sickness.
But each generation keeps making the same mistakes: economic collapse, environmental crisis, endless wars and bloodshed ...
We had no choice. The wounds of this world must be cleansed. One deluge at a time. Now, we are welcoming a new "Storm."
One that will reverse us to an even more distant past.
Fear and anger intertwine. The crowd is like a volcano on the verge of eruption.
You're a lunatic, Captain. You need your head examined.
Lady, you need a psychiatrist!
...
But these things you're showing us ... they really happened?
No need to take my word for it. You will all bear witness to it soon.
The crowd descends into a hushed panic. Every lapping of the waves can be heard amid their almost ghostly murmurs.
This is the perfect moment to calm the crowd.
The "Storm" is NOT coming.
We are from the St. Pavlov Foundation—
An organization dedicated to the protection and rights of humans and arcanists.
Huh.
Ah, thank goodness!
As the Timekeeper of the St. Pavlov Foundation, I can assure you:
What she showed you won't happen here. Manus Vindictae are just trying to manipulate you into buying into their deception and hatred. Don't give in to this false fear!
Please, everyone, remain calm.
Another bamboo arrow shoots through the air.
Protect us? You? Don't make me laugh!
Fatutu doesn't hesitate to stop him.
Really? You think these people care about rebuilding our home?
Were they there when Nukutaeao was hit by the great waves? Where was their protection then?
I'm not sure, but I just can't bear the thought that we might make a decision we'll regret later. I don't wanna see any more cracks and scratches on our shells.
Her cries cannot overpower the murmuring of the guests, nor can they quell the rising fury of her kin.
And they certainly cannot stop another poison arrow.
*Ed è sübito sera——！
This is getting out of hand. Be careful, Timekeeper. They're coming for us!
The hall is in utter disarray.
Labored breathing, sighs, and sobbing blend together like a sickly pot of thick stew.
No. This isn't right.
She wants to say more, but the familiar scent of herbal incense suddenly overwhelms her.
Sleepy Reeds—a herbal anesthetic used by Nukutai priests during surgeries.
I think you need some rest, sister.
...!
I'm sorry, Fatutu. This needs to be done.
Selone catches her as she falls unconscious.
The ongoing confrontation on the other side of the hall is evidently far more intense.
A fine speech, Ms. Vertin, such delectable righteous indignation.
Surrender, Ms. Grace. Your lies will not succeed here.
Why, of course. To tell a lie brings the harshest of consequences, even a kindergartener knows that.
Grace surveys the hall. Countless eyes are fixed on her.
Anger, hostility, confusion, disdain—she has walked through it all before and never left a trace.
...
Everyone, whenever there's an imminent "Storm," my watch here starts a countdown, but there have been no signs of—
Grace places a delicate hand on her raised arm, interrupting her speech.
What a coincidence, Ms. Vertin. I so happen to have a similar device myself.
...
Three.
Two.
...!
One.
Impossible!
Ms. Vertin.
As you said, lies will not succeed here. The question is, who here is the liar?
Ladies and gentlemen, I invite you to relish the sight before you.
Here we are ...
The last evening on earth.
14. A Call for Help
169 linesThe figure running down the corridor narrowly avoids another container, the ferrofluid violently swirling in his tank.
Flux's sake, I can't work under these dim lights. Could this cheapskate cruise liner not spring for some decent halogens or fluorescents?
Ulrich briskly makes his way down the corridor, the asymmetrical nuclide R collector inside his briefcase buzzing loudly.
Bzz ... BZZZ ... BZZZZZZ!
Just as I expected. The closer I get, the more erratically the collector's gauge reacts. I must pinpoint this ship's current location as soon as possible!
Wait, the readings are a bit off. Ugh, is it because of the seawater?! Or is there an abundant load of nuclide R in this area?
He crouches down, laying the suitcase on the ground and pounding on it.
———/*&@!#*(!
This thing must be broken. When I get my hands on the engineers responsible for maintaining this, I swear I'll—
Calm yourself and think, Ulrich. Did you miss anything crucial?
...!
Ah, yes! The oily slime in the power supply room. A rudimentary test showed that its refractive index and infrared spectrum closely matched our samples from Manus Vindictae.
Beep beep! Beep beep!
The ringing of the communicator interrupts his thoughts.
Huh, who's calling? Regulus?
Finally! I've been trying to reach you for a while now, Ulrich!
Calling to check on the "Artificial Storm" project, are you? I still have a way to go. I'll call you when I need a hand or two.
No, no, no! I'm afraid I'm not offering you a hand. I'm asking for one!
We need you topside you fabulous Fish Tank! There's a gang of Manus thugs here!
Ulrich leaps to his feet. Amid the static, he has caught the most crucial piece of information.
The Manus ... huh ...
There's sure to be a considerable amount of nuclide within their masks. Perhaps I don't need this unreliable scrap of metal after all!
Send me your location straight away, Regulus!
Where are these Manus thugs?!
A surging dark mass of people blocks Ulrich's view.
Flux's sake! This is a bigger crowd than I expected!
His "bulb" stands out amidst the crowd, causing the spread of a new panic as they retreat from him.
Who is this walking lightbulb?!
Oh, my God! I don't want to end up with a lightbulb for a head!
Huh? What are you talking ab—
Stop ...! *roar*
Ulrich nimbly dodges the hammer blow, intense electrical impulses surging through his body.
Uggghhh!
There we are, another extract of asymmetrical nuclide R!
Though poised to take action, Ulrich is promptly stopped by the pleading hostages.
Ulrich, we're over here!
Wonderful, I should be able to extract even more over th—
He is immediately cut short upon entering the crowd.
Kill ...! *roar*
Ulrich narrowly avoids another attack before finally reuniting with the others.
This seems to be a bit more than a gang—closer to a horde, really. You understated your situation, Regulus!
Your help is much appreciated all the same, Mr. Ulrich.
Help? Well, I'm afraid I won't be much help to you, Timekeeper. Fighting is far from my specialty.
Blimey!
Regulus feels utterly lost.
They seem to be corralling the guests. At least, they aren't hurting them for now.
It isn't about hurting them. She wants to recruit more followers.
Countless steely, emotionless eyes scan the crowd with icy precision.
Is there a single ship in this whole bleeding world that doesn't belong to either the Foundation or the Manus?
Mr. Ulrich, does Laplace possess any technology that could detect an imminent "Storm"?
We made several attempts to do so in the aftermath of the second "Storm," but none of them proved effective.
Since that time, we've become reliant on the "Storm" alerts from the Foundation, or more specifically, from you, Timekeeper.
Ms. Grace claimed that the "Storm" was coming, and she managed to accurately predict the occurrence of the anomaly outside.
Yet, my watch has shown no sign of an imminent "Storm."
Light rain is tapping on the porthole. Sonetto unconsciously tightens the cuffs on her sleeve.
In any event, I believe in you, Timekeeper.
Thank you, Sonetto. But it isn't you that I need to convince. It's them.
Countless eyes filled with fear, suspicion, and hostility remain fixed on them.
...
No wonder my readings were going wild.
Apologies, Timekeeper. Though nothing would make me happier than disproving Manus Vindictae, I can't deny the possibility that these phenomena are precursors to the "Storm."
This is not a reassuring answer.
The wind howls fiercely.
The horizon has become almost completely obscured. Far-off islands and faintly visible reefs blend into one another, as if smeared with an even darker shade of paint.
Amid the crowd, people slump to the ground, their sobs lingering in the air.
Please, everyone, listen. We have to stay calm!
Struggling to her feet with the help of her Crackling Box, Barcarola rises to fulfill her duty once again.
I ask you to put your faith in me, and in the "Free Breeze."
I should have never come to this party.
*sob* I want to go home! I'm scared.
Someone help us, please!
Barcarola's voice is utterly drowned out by the wails of the crowd.
What can I do to get these people's attention?
*thud*
A massive sound resonates from the bow of the ship, sending a vibration so strong that many are thrown to the ground.
What? What's happening?!
Due to low visibility at sea, some public services on the "Free Breeze" will be temporarily suspended. We apologize for any inconvenience caused.
We are now entering an area of treacherous reef. During this time, there may be some sharp shifts in course.
...
In order that we might reach the new era as soon as possible, the "Free Breeze" will forge ahead at full speed.
Please stay indoors and, in case of emergency, hold on to the handrails.
I repeat. Please stay indoors and hold on to the handrails.
Captain Grace, why in the world is the "Free Breeze" going full speed through these reefs?
To embrace the future.
But if we strike any of these reefs, the damage could be catastrophic!
Not as catastrophic as missing our chance to embrace the "Storm."
Her softly spoken words fall on deaf ears.
You deranged loon! I won't stand for this. You're just trying to scare us into joining your cult!
I'll bet there's no reef, no storm at all. This is trickery, and I intend to prove it!
Do as you wish, sir.
Please watch your footing. The wind is howling outside.
She gives a polite nod as the guest storms out of the cabin.
Look, I'm standing firm as a bould—
The guest stands firm on the deck, like a warrior singing triumphantly between Scylla's cliffs and Charybdis' whirlpool.
That is, until he's struck by the power of the wind.
Ahhhh!
His scream is quickly drowned in the storm as he vanishes into the void.
...
One guest pulls the hatch closed again, blocking out the howling wind outside and returning their one safe haven to silence.
The gentleman is gone!
Ms. Grace, you murdered that man.
What an utterly baffling accusation. Have I shot him, stabbed him? No. The choice was always in his own hands, wasn't it?
The hall remains silent.
After a long while, one quivering guest steps forward.
Captain, you said you'd save us if we joined Manus Vindictae, right?
It's not as simple as that, I'm afraid. But relax; there is only a small trial to pass, then the new era awaits.
She gestures to an all-too-familiar mask sitting silently on the table.
You may feel a little disoriented, but your body will be in no danger.
So, if we all put on these masks, then this nightmare will be over?
Things can't get any worse than they are now, can they? Give me the mask!
*sob*
O, lost lambs, this will be the bravest leap you've ever taken over the fence.
Sonetto turns to the crowd.
Please, everyone. Don't fall for her lies!
She doesn't offer you salvation, but slavery! Don't give up your free will!
Listen to her! We've got to be free to choose for ourselves!
Rock, blues, classical, or heavy metal—it doesn't matter! Each of us is our own melody! The Manus will take that from you!
Alright. Our priority is to bring the guests back to their senses.
The guests remain in turmoil as the believers and skeptics argue among one another.
Fear and confusion quickly spread through them, like ink in water, and soon ...
Haha! I did it! I put on the mask!
I-I'm saved!
Thank you, thank you, Ms. Grace!
It hurts! It hurts so much.
Help ... *roar*
We can't let more of these people give in to their fears!
Her voice is almost entirely drowned out by the roaring crowd.
These stubborn outsiders must be silenced! Take them away!
Let our revenge begin with them!
For Nukutaeao!
Selone, take my troubled sister back to her room. The softness of her heart has clouded her judgment, just as her shell shows.
Chief ...
Black ink seems to stain every one of their faces.
The upheaval has engulfed the Nukutai along with countless other innocents.
Mum, I wanna go home.
Just think of something happy, sweetheart.
Remember that toy your dad bought you? It's waiting for you at home. We'll be there soon. Just put this on. We'll be there soon.
Trembling, the mother slowly lowers the mask to her child's face.
No!
Barcarola lunges forward, knocking the Manus mask out of her hand.
I don't believe your job description permits you to interrupt our guests, does it, Ms. Barcarola?
I don't understand, Captain Grace. Why are you letting this happen? Why are you doing this?
Grace carefully picks up the still-humming mask and brushes off the dust. She steps forward.
Cheer up, dear girl. Hold that chin up high. Now that's the spirit, the brightest star of the "Free Breeze" forever and always.
Just take a look. Your loyal fans are waiting for your next show.
Won't you play some of those beautiful melodies for them again?
But Ms. Grace, what do you mean by the "Storm" and diseases of the world, and this new era?
Oh, it's all so much simpler than you think, Ms. Barcarola.
In the new era, all that you hated in this time will vanish, as if it had never been there at all.
The "City of Violins" you swore you'd never return to will soon be forgotten, washed away in the coming "Storm."
Your wish will come true. You'll never need return to it. You couldn't even if you tried.
Never again?
Memories of her home return to her as if she were there just yesterday.
The towering bell tower of the cathedral, the creaking footbridges of the dock, the Cremona Music Festival competitor list that never displayed her name, and the distant scent of torta and risotto.
She has been far away from that world for so long, yet there before her eyes, she sees it again: the report card scribbled with red ink soaring on the wind.
What was it you said about that rotten little town? The monotony of sound, the disappointment of those old fossils and their little worlds—is that right?
Yes. I said I never, never wanted to go back.
Now, keep your hand steady this time, my dear. You must be certain.
Cold metal meets Barcarola's hand, jolting her back to reality.
Her trembling hand reaches for her peculiar, silent instrument. She cradles it in her arms.
My Crackling Box.
The familiar texture of the adhesive holding it together reassures her. She runs her fingers over it before greedily moving on to the rest.
Then, in the intricate structure of the instrument she created, she finds all the pieces of that familiar thing.
A fingerboard, strings, a sound post, a bridge, tuning pegs ...
A violin.
No!
A sudden warmth bursts forth within her, urging her to push the mask aside.
15. A New Page Turned
81 linesI-I'm confused, Toa. If these disbelievers are a danger to our vengeance, why are we only locking them up? Shouldn't we just toss them overboard?
T-The chief wants Fatutu to decide how to deal with them! A test of her allegiance and her conviction.
After she puts on the mask, of course.
...
You're afraid, Selone. Don't be. The trial isn't difficult. I see things so clearly now.
I don't know, Toa.
I trust in Kamuta's leadership, but still ...
Just like always. You're waiting for everyone else to test the water before you jump.
I-I just feel that there's something wrong.
You say you're not afraid, Toa, but I hear your chains clinking. You're shaking, too.
Shut up! That's only because we're in a freezer!
A familiar place.
Blimey, locked up again. At this rate, I'll have my "imprisoned on all seven continents" bingo card before I turn 20. It's an honest bet I've spent more time behind bars than my own home.
I wasn't aware that you had a home, beyond the ship, I mean.
Course I do, love! The whole of London is my home!
I've walked its streets! I've inspired its people! I fought for its music! Its spirit's stamped on my very soul!
She paces back and forth in the cell as she passionately proclaims her cause.
Rebellious artists often fall into such radical expressions.
And jolly old London will always have a harbor open for this captain and her APPLe as a token of—wait, Barcarola, what are you doing here?!
A familiar silhouette appears in the prison door window.
Well, I suppose those tinheads aren't the type to appreciate a true artist. Jealous of our talents, no doubt.
Ms. Grace said to give you special treatment, Barcarola. But I warn you, these prisoners are ours to deal with. So don't get any ideas!
The door creaks open, and Regulus stumbles back a few steps.
What greets her isn't the familiar sweetheart of the ship, nor the elegant musician, but a tear-streaked, almost disheveled and helpless face of a young girl.
...!
I'm just confused. It seems like there's only one way forward, but ...
The captain said that only those who put on the mask have a chance to survive the "Storm."
And that everyone else, the unbelievers, the forsaken ... will vanish.
...
Her voice is almost entirely drained of strength.
If I reach this beautiful new era Ms. Grace speaks of, what will happen to Cremona? The streets, the cathedral, all of the people I grew up with ...
Will I ever be able to see them again?
The truth is ...
After the "Storm," there may still be a Cremona, but ...
Every face, every song, every brick from each house to the cathedral—will be different.
The "Storm" will wash away almost all traces of this era.
...
But you can still help us, Ms. Barcarola.
Me? How?
No matter when the "Storm" arrives, we must fight till the last second.
To help as many people survive as possible.
I-I need some time to think.
*bang*
The door slams open again.
Your visiting time is over, Barcarola.
Better not overstay your welcome.
Barcarola wipes the tears from her eyes, taking deep breaths as she tries to steady herself.
...
I just wanna see her, is all, as a friend.
The captain's cabin is calm compared to the carefully crafted atmosphere of fear and eeriness on the rest of the ship.
*click*
A delicate hand turns the knob on the radio, switching it to a more secretive frequency.
THEY are well aware of your contribution.
To follow THEIR divine guidance, we must be willing to renounce both body and mind.
Well done, Apostle Grace.
To think those white suits are so sure they've caught us off guard. Oh, I can't wait to see the despair in their eyes when they fall flat on their faces.
I can imagine it now: "Let us all observe a moment of silence for those lost in our latest failure. Let us honor them as eternal monuments of our cause." How pathetic.
Despite the static, the ridicule in Forget Me Not's tone rings clear.
Oh, and what about this Laplace rat that I hear has stowed away on board?
Yes, the Awakened ferrofluid sample named Ulrich—one of the major contributors to the creation of the Equilibrium Umbrella.
Hmph, let's hope his little umbrella keeps him dry.
Because if he isn't careful, he may end up in much deeper waters.
The ritual materials are nearly assembled, and we are accelerating our recruitment.
But the Nukutai Spirit Shells have yet to reach their most optimal form. It could hinder the stability of the ritual if they're not immersed in pure negative emotion.
Your commitment to quality is impressive, but the shells needn't be perfect to perform as needed. Do not waste time unnecessarily.
Do you understand, Apostle Grace?
...
I trust you've learned from the last failure.
Yes.
Excellent. A teleportation array has been set up for you. But it will last only a short while. You must begin the ritual as soon as your ship reaches the target location.
Manus Vindictae awaits your return.
Yes, Mr. Forget Me Not. I will always follow THEIR guidance.
The communication ends, leaving only the echo of the final words spoken through it.
Grace raises a pale hand and gently caresses the intricate patterns on the Spirit Shells.
Silence fills the room.
16. Barcarolle
99 lines*Ed è sübito sera——！
It's no use. The cabin's wall is heavily reinforced. My arcane skills can barely scratch it.
I guess that's why they didn't even bother taking our stuff.
Ulrich, you've got to have some miraculous trinkets up your sleeve to bust us out, right?
You're the pride of Laplace, after all!
Laplace is not a circus, and I am no magician.
But I may have something that can help.
I have a small amount of TNT and some Papyrpillar Solvents.
The former can blast the door open; however, it will likely blast us to smithereens along with it.
The latter is much safer, of course. All we need to do is apply it to the walls and then wait for a couple of days.
We're abso-frigging-lutely screwed, aren't we?
Don't be glum, Ms. Regulus. We aren't beat yet.
Ulrich sets aside the obviously useless tools.
He has made a much more important discovery.
Take a look at this, Timekeeper.
I've been recording the "Free Breeze's" heading since it left Sydney.
Though, unfortunately, something has been jamming our signal.
Yet, we can still extrapolate from my earlier readings that this ship is not heading to its advertised destination.
It's heading steadily ...
Southward.
It appears so.
Her thoughts churn more violently than the ferrofluid's vibrations.
The forecast of the "Storm," the sudden eclipse, the mask trials, and the speed at which the "Free Breeze" is now heading.
If all they wanted was to recruit more followers, they would allow for more time to convince the others.
However, if the "Storm" is indeed coming, then why would we be racing forward through these reefs?
Their actions don't seem to be aimed at recruiting nor at passing through the "Storm." Rather, they seem to be aimed at ...
Intimidation.
The air in the cell seems to momentarily stagnate.
This would add weight to the possibility that the "Storm" they're promising is only a trick to inspire more fear.
That said, we must consider the chance of the "Storm" occurring, no matter how slim it may seem.
Ulrich stands tall, unwavering in the face of conjecture.
Until the truth is ultimately revealed, all we can rely on are the instruments in our hands and the readings before our eyes.
Then we're agreed, Mr. Ulrich.
Whether the "Storm" is coming or not, we need to be well-prepared.
I'm glad we're on the same page.
We've brought quite a few Equilibrium Umbrellas with us, and my suitcase can also serve as a temporary shelter.
However, that will do nothing for the humans aboard.
Your suitcase? Then the rumors are true!
No wonder the stick-in-the-mud Foundation greenlit you to build your own team.
Ulrich stares intently at the suitcase held in her hands.
Ah, I would give anything to analyze it one day!
I'm certain that day will come, eventually.
Sonetto, how many Equilibrium Umbrellas have we brought exactly?
Ermm. Exactly 73.
A sufficient number to cover all the comrades in the suitcase.
Unfortunately, it's far from enough to account for the nearly thousand people aboard the "Free Breeze."
Mr. Ulrich, you're not speaking of your "Artificial Storm" experiment, are you? We have neither the time nor personnel to assist you with it.
And I implore you to consider the potential risks, especially in attempting it alone and under these conditions.
Ulrich eagerly continues his explanation, heedless of his companion's concerns.
Irrespective of your concerns, thanks to those oily heads and their quirky masks, I've acquired more than enough asymmetrical nuclide R to perform the immutability experiments.
But have you considered the side effects, Mr. Ulrich?
The ferrofluid halts for a moment.
...
It's true. There is the risk of unavoidable side effects the experiments pose.
And I admit that, if I were in the lab, we would use much more time and caution.
But on this ship, I am the only one capable of withstanding the effects of the Storm Syndrome.
Despite his seemingly calm tone, a new round of protestation is volleyed his way.
Hold on, hang about!
Have you gone right off the dock? We can't afford to lose you, genius! You're the only gadget guru we've got!
We're counting on you to fix the signal!
She grabs Ulrich by the tank and frantically shakes it, sending the ferrofluid swirling inside.
Mind the negativity, Regulus. I may be a scientist, but I'd rather not have the bad omens.
It does take time to recover from the Storm Syndrome. Indeed, it could be as long as three months, or a few weeks. But hey, it may well be just a matter of seconds. "Fortune favors the bold," you know.
But if I've learned anything at Laplace, it's that we'll need to do dozens of tests!
I agree with Regulus. Your plan is too reckless, Mr. Ulrich.
Our priority should be to find a way to escape this ship safely.
She looks through the cell door window. There's no one outside.
What about Ms. Barcarola? Do you think she'll stand with us?
She will. I have faith in her.
Mr. Esam, would you lend me a hand, please?
What brought our brightest little star? Oh, look at you, out of breath and all covered in dust. What happened?
Easy, easy, Barcarola. We're here to help!
The warmth of their greetings causes tears to well up in her eyes.
That's right, Miss. Why don't you tell us what happened? The captain told us to stay put, but we'll do whatever we can to help you.
Uh, what?
Captain Grace said this era is coming to an end, and only those who put on a Manus Vindictae mask and pass its trial can reach the new era with her.
Sorry, what? You just turned your old friend Charlie's brain into a knot. Where are we going then?
There's no telling where or even when we'll end up. Could be someplace ten years ago, or even a hundred years.
You mean we're traveling through time?
I-I don't know.
I've got to admit, Miss. This all sounds a bit too wild to be believed.
But as sure as a compass points north—
He gently pats her on the shoulder with a large, rough hand.
I will trust you mean every word you say.
Thank you, Giovanni.
So, you're saying if we don't do something, then none of us will ever see home again?
Her silence is answer enough.
The sailors exchange a glance, needing no words to make their decision.
It's decided then. We'll fight by your side, Ms. Barcarola!
Because none of us wants to find ourselves in a random land back when the dinosaurs roamed!
You've got that right! I won't let them ruin my retirement!
We'll sail ourselves home if we've got to!
One thing's for certain: I don't want to be stuck here for the rest of my life!
Alright, gentlemen, enough with the words. It's time to take action. Ms. Barcarola, is there anything we can do?
Yes, of course!
17. Dissonance
93 linesHey, the Nukutai nutjobs outside are gone! Don't tell me they've abandoned ship and left us here to starve!
Come back here, you yellow-bellied cowards! This pirate is not going to Davy Jones's locker without a fight!
Having satisfied her anger by yelling through the porthole, she turns to the others.
Sonetto, are those solvents working at all? Tell me they are!
It appears the outer layer of the door has already dissolved substantially.
Excellent. The Papyrpillar Solvents are more effective than I anticipated.
At this rate, the door should be fully dissolved in approximately 13 hours!
Oh wow, that fast! Really, Fish Tank? I'll be waiting with bated breath!
She furiously shakes his glass tank.
Hey, why don't you just whip us up a few helmets like yours?
That way, you can just blast the door open with the TNT, and we'll be sound as a pound. Well, our heads at least.
My helmet is made of regular silica, 7.092% calcium magnesium carbonate, and 3.27% aluminum oxide. I'm afraid it's no more explosion-proof than your regular old skull.
...
Regulus slumps against the door as the last vestiges of resistance leave her body.
A faint shout comes from the other side of the door.
Regulus, I'd stay away from the door if I were you.
Huh?!
They're here!
Hold onto this anchor like your life depends on it!
We ram the door open on the count of three!
The helmsmen's voices are like music to their ears.
Three!
A countdown begins.
Two!
A nearly soul-stirring impact.
One!
With their final count, the supposedly unbreakable door collapses.
The cheering of familiar faces echoes through the room.
Regulus swears it's the most beautiful noise she's ever heard.
Right on! I knew you'd come through for us, Barcarola! A rising star through hell or high water!
You have our thanks, Ms. Barcarola.
I just want to save as many people as possible, for the pride of the "Free Breeze"!
We aim to do the same thing.
After a pause, Ulrich steps forward.
Timekeeper, I need to get to the radio room.
It's likely to be the only place on the ship that we'll be able to get through their jamming.
She turns to Ulrich with a solemn look on her face.
I'll bring good news. I promise.
...
I see. Regulus, you should go with him.
No, no, no, I don't need additional manpower for such an easy—
I insist. We can't afford to lose anyone, Mr. Ulrich.
She places a compact device in his leather-gloved hand.
This is ...
The Pioneers Mk I positioning system, the latest in technology from Laplace.
But if I recall correctly, it's never been mass-produced. Only a few prototypes were made available.
And this is one of them. If anything happens, someone can use it to track you down if you're in serious trouble, like if you've fallen into the sea.
Good luck, Mr. Ulrich.
Ha, he won't need it, because no one knows radio systems better than this captain!
She nods before the two vanish around the corner.
The rest of us need to return to the lobby and get the masked guests under control.
Sonetto, do we have sufficient sedatogens left?
Yes, Timekeeper. We still have plenty!
She turns to the helmsmen.
Gentlemen, I'll need your assistance, too.
Of course, ma'am. Ms. Barcarola already told us everything. Sounds like helping you means we're helping ourselves!
Esam, do you know where we can find the spare keys to the passenger cabins?
We have another friend to free.
Elsewhere on the ship, two stealthy figures navigate through the darkness.
Are you sure this is the right way?
Are you doubting my capabilities?
Not exactly.
The broadcasting room is empty.
It's only that I expected they'd have this place locked down like the crown jewels, but nobody is here.
Ignoring Regulus's wandering about, Ulrich quickly channels his "thought current" into the broadcasting console.
...
Coastal base station, come in! Coastal base station, come in!
Where's the International Maritime Organization when you need them?!
Laplace Australia branch, please come in! Laplace Australia branch, please come in!
...
I just checked out the wiring. All the signal transmitters have been sabotaged.
No wonder there's been no sight nor sound of those oily freaks!
Ulrich seems unsurprised. Retracting his "thought current," he disregards the apparent predicament.
He lays one peculiar item after another onto the table.
Reel it in, Fish Tank. You're not conducting the "Artificial Storm" experiments right here, are you?!
Why not? We have a supernatural phenomenon, a vast water supply, sufficient asymmetrical nuclide R, and the required sound wave frequency ready in the transmission system here.
If these aren't the perfect testing conditions for the "Artificial Storm," then what is?
Wha-wait, wait, wait!
Are you forgetting what you just said to Vertin? What about all those side effects? You've got no bleeding idea how severe they'll be, or how long they'll last!
Which is why it's lucky you were sent along with me, Regulus. If anything happens to me, you'll have to be the one to report the experiments' results!
He gives her a hearty pat on the shoulder.
Whether the "Storm" comes or not, we'll have made an undeniable leap of progress.
More than worth a bit of Storm Syndrome, no matter how nasty.
He tosses an Equilibrium Umbrella into Regulus's hands.
At least now you'll have an extra Equilibrium Umbrella.
He pays no mind to his immobile teammate.
Instead, he meticulously sorts through the materials he has spread on the table.
18. The 27 Club
73 linesIn the cramped broadcasting room, the little lion and the lightbulb are at a face-off.
What did you say?
Her unexpected declaration has caused the ferrofluid to come to a halt.
You heard me, you daft lightbulb! I will not be your undertaker!
...
Regulus, you still haven't grasped the significance of this project, have you?!
We've figured out the principles of the "Storm" and even developed the means to create its simulacra! Yes, there's still much room for improvement, but we've already made a huge leap!
And now, we finally have the opportunity to put our theories into application!
Finding an immutable material is essential to our survival! The "Regulus Satellite" proved it to all of us!
Just think about it, Regulus.
We are standing right on the cusp of the post-"Storm" era!
Regulus hangs her head.
...
Don't tell me you're worried about the funds and credit for the experiment?
Laplace will cover all your potential losses and expenses incurred should anything go wrong.
And whether this project succeeds or not, your assistance has been indispensable. Surely enough to earn you a fat bonus and a high rating for your salary review, and I will certainly not be hogging all the credit.
Ulrich stops upon seeing an even more resolute expression come across Regulus's face.
Huh?
The two exchanged stunned looks.
I'm a member of Laplace now, same as you. A researcher, not just an observer.
I, too, witnessed the "Storm."
Ulrich has never seen Regulus so earnest.
So, ergo, therefore, Q.E.D., I'll participate in your "Artificial Storm" experiment, not as your note taker.
But as your fellow experimenter!
I never expected this from you, Regulus.
He knocks on his glass tank, perplexed.
Don't tell me my reports were really that bad.
Never mind, really, don't tell me. Fact of the matter is, I got an advance on my wages, so I fully intend to do my duty as a researcher!
Besides ...
No rockin' pirate with a spine would ever leave their shipmates stranded in danger.
Ulrich squeezes Regulus's shoulder.
I admire your courage, truly.
However, when it comes to these experiments, you must leave it to me!
...
That is an order, Regulus.
His resolve is unyielding.
He opens the door, signaling Regulus to leave his "lab."
I need you to observe my status through the porthole and record our experimental data. You're the only one that can do it.
Alright, Magnet Head, have it your way.
Her eyes linger on the experimental materials in the case.
Platinum Ouija boards, young dragon tongue tubes, fire moth powder, and numerous duplicated records ...
Say Ulrich, do you like rock?
Now is hardly the time to chat about music, don't you think?
I hope you won't be pestering me with more of these inane questions.
And to answer you, I prefer Brown noise. Its frequencies produce a soothing rhythm in my ferrofluid.
See? That's exactly why I can't leave it to you.
Errr. What?
This logical leap nearly causes Ulrich's circuits to crash.
I turned a blind eye to your blatant acts of piracy ...
And brushed off your blasphemies against rock.
But, if I miss out on an adventure like this,
I'll forever lose the right to join the 27 Club!
The 27 Club?
All the best rock stars die at 27, or in a blaze of glory!
This is my record, my responsibility.
We might fall or even vanish.
Maybe we'll get turned into cubes or paint or whatever!
But at the end of the day ...
Rock never dies!
...
...
!
Whether you're a rock legend or not, you shine with the radiance of humanity.
Regulus, I salute both your experimental spirit and your rock 'n' roll spirit!
There's only one thing left to do.
Project: Experiments on Material Immutability via "Artificial Storm"
Locale: Radio Room of the "Free Breeze" Cruise Ship
Experimenters: Ulrich and Regulus
Our experiment will now commence.
19. The Pain of Missing Home
135 linesMs. Vertin, it seems all the passengers are gathered in the lobby.
The group has finally arrived at the cruise ship lobby. The place is a mess.
We've lost too much time. A lot of people have put on masks while we were locked up.
We'll need to round up the ones that are still conscious!
Sure!
The hastily assembled rescue team leaps into action, breaking up rising quarrels and separating the crowd members fighting over masks.
Damn, more contenders! Like we don't have enough people wrestling for a mask!
Give me that mask, asshole!
I'm joining Manus Vindictae! I will take the trial!
Clearly, any semblance of onboard etiquette has been long abandoned.
Sir, I believe you may be too weak to endure the trial! You should leave this valuable opportunity to someone who will be more useful to Captain Grace!
Please put the masks down, everyone! This isn't the way to survive!
Give it to me! That mask belongs to me!
Ms. Grace smiled at me once! She must like me! She'll want me to join her!
I just don't want to be killed by this "Storm" thing.
*sob* I don't want to die.
The helmsmen dip and dive through the crowd as they administer sedatogens to the almost delirious passengers.
Get back to your senses, people!
If I were you, I'd have thrown these creepy masks into the sea the moment I saw them!
The Nukutai survivors watch the nearby rescue operation from afar.
Thanks to Grace's kindness, their situation appears far "brighter" than the other guests.
But not all of them share their newfound faith.
Selone, you must put on the mask, please. For our people. It's not scary, I promise.
Would you rather be captured by those outsiders?!
Go to the captain's room, Toa.
You passed your trial. I'm sure the captain and our people there need you more than I do.
I must stay here to look after Kitiona, little Pita, and our friends who still seem to be lost.
What is wrong with you, Selone? All you need to do is put on the mask!
Selone breaks free of Toa's grip, nearly falling to the floor as she does so.
I'm sorry, Toa. I think Fatutu was right to have second thoughts.
Look at all the people who have put on the mask. Now, tell me how many of them have survived?
Following Selone's tear-filled gaze, countless failures of the trial lie sprawled on the floor.
Nukutai, Australians, Italians ...
Sailors, merchants, tourists ...
And what, you're afraid? Is this really more important than bringing our people home?!
The storm outside continues to batter the ship.
The lobby, however, grows increasingly silent.
You have changed. The Toa I knew would never have dared to ask me such a foolish question.
Haven't you heard their cries?
You need to think of the future, Selone, the new, beautiful homeland we're going to recover! We could live peacefully once more. We could—
His tears mix with the viscous black liquid of the mask as they drip onto the floor.
Please stop, Toa. I'm sorry.
...
When I see how tainted and twisted your Spirit Shell has become, I can't. I won't.
Selone crumples to the floor, her voice barely a whisper.
Sonetto spots them among the crowd.
She rushes toward the Nukutai survivors.
Sonetto, watch out!
*roar* To ... a new world!
Narrowly dodging the attack, Sonetto looks up in surprise.
... *roar* ... *roar*
Beneath their cold bronze masks, viscous black fluid seeps from the Nukutai believers' eyes and mouths.
Their limbs have twisted into grotesque shapes, and they mutter to themselves, as though tormented by an unending pain.
Sonetto, get ready to use those sedatogens.
Their frenzy subsides as the suffering individuals drift into slumber.
*roar* I ...
Pardon me for this, please.
She sprays a dose of sedatogen over them.
Home ... home ...
...!
Unfortunately, the sedatogen seems to have little effect on those under the control of the masks.
What're you doing to my people?!
I won't let you hurt them!
Toa stands vigilantly before Sonetto, shielding the unconscious Manus believers.
Ms. Vertin, Ms. Sonetto, we're back!
...?
Fatutu comes rushing over.
Selone, Toa, are you alright?
Tutu?
Their encounter brings little joy.
Toa, instinctively touching the mask clasped to his face, takes a few steps back.
I'm so glad to see you unharmed, Fatutu. But our friends ...
I know what happened, Selone. Barcarola told me everything when she got me out.
I've made up my mind now. We can't wear their masks, Selone. We never should have agreed to their so-called revenge plan.
The Manus believers seem to latch onto her words, reacting as though they are a shot of adrenaline.
Revenge ...! *roar*
...!
Toa leaps forward, the ragged claws tearing through his arm as he shields his childhood friend once again.
...
Toa!
No! No! Why is this happening?
Blood splatters before her eyes, painting the lobby wall crimson.
The believer's appetite for vengeance has only grown stronger.
Retribution ...! *roar*
They seem to be more frantic than ever before! Timekeeper, I suggest increasing the dosage of sedatogens!
The mask's influence has wormed its way deep into their brains. I'm afraid sedatogens won't be able to awaken their consciousness any longer.
They need something that reaches into their soul.
The Manus believers are determined to destroy everything in their path.
...!
As they surge forward, the crowd is pushed back. Barcarola is caught in the center of the chaos.
Isn't there something I can do?
The wails, the cries, and the pounding rain outside nearly overwhelm her. Amidst the chaos, her bow slips out of her hand.
*thwack*
She jumps at the sound.
Stop playing with that atrocious toy of yours and pay attention to the class, Barcarola!
Music is a language that moves us on to a deeper level than any other, transcending both culture, place, and time.
Whoever you are, and wherever you go, it will always stir the depths of your soul!
...
No need to remember. No need to think.
Familiar, simple tones flow from her Crackling Box.
A soft, indescribable melody washes over Fatutu.
This song is both strange yet intimate. Where is it from?
Is it from the Cremona that Barcarola talked about? The helmsmen's spontaneous sing-song? Or from Meli's traditional bonfire festival?
We're not so different deep down, are we?
Huh? What's that sound? Violins, piano, cellos, double bass, and flutes!
But violins? She hates violins!
I-I want to go home! *sob*
*roar* ... *roar*
*roar* Nukutaeao ...
Her people raise their hands helplessly, clawing at the air.
Tears blur her vision, but her thoughts only grow clearer.
Though her hands are trembling, she gently lifts the harmonica to her lips.
Her quivering lips blow a gentle rhythm into the harmonica.
A new melody joins the ensemble.
The islander and the musician exchange a glance, and, with no baton nor words, music flows between them like an ancient, joyful river.
The black liquid stills, no longer seeping from the masks of the helpless.
The melody echoes through the lobby, gently closing the eyes of the tormented believers.
...
Toa's raised hands finally fall, as though succumbing to a deep sleep.
It's over now, dear friends.
Barcarola nervously wrings her hands.
I'm sorry, Fatutu. I didn't expect my song to put your people in this state. I only wanted to help.
You did. You're the greatest musician I've ever seen.
But, your friends, they've—
They've gone home.
But ...
The lightly trembling shoulders before her suddenly feel unfamiliar.
Had those fragile, tender shoulders always been so brave and resolute?
Look at the shining, pristine Spirit Shells around their necks. That is a sign. It tells us that their souls are at peace.
That our friends lived a full and honest life.
Wiping her tears, Fatutu gets to her feet and starts to gently collect her lost people's Spirit Shells. She can still feel their warmth in her palm.
Fatutu!
Before the warmth of the Spirit Shells can fade, Kamuta strides into the lobby, his demeanor cold.
20. To Elsewhere, To Home
103 linesWhat are you doing?!
How could you side with our enemies? Against your own people, against the ones who would rebuild our home?!
Incredulous severity colors his tone.
You've brought shame on our people. You've disappointed me.
Stop all this now, and come with me. We will beg Ms. Grace to cleanse your soul!
Like the countless times before, he waits for her to grasp his outstretched hand.
*thwack*
?!
An unexpected act of defiance.
Joining Manus Vindictae was a mistake, Kamuta.
Their masks blinded our people, they tricked us with their lies and empty promises, but look! So many precious lives lost for nothing.
It wasn't for nothing. They died for the resurrection of Nukutaeao!
Isn't it your dream, too? To rebuild our home in a land free of humans and their wickedness?!
Fatutu shakes her head.
No. Not anymore, Kamuta.
She looks around at her people, their faces marked with pain and confusion.
We may have lost our islands, but what we've done here lost us something far more precious.
...
There's nothing in this so-called "new era" that Ms. Grace promised us that is worth becoming monsters and corrupting our Spirit Shells.
Our pride must be in ourselves and who we are.
The shells around our necks, the words we speak to one another, the way we treat others with kindness, not hatred. That is what defines us.
We are more than just how the outsiders can use us, more than our Sea Mother's Eye. We are the wisdom of our elders, and the traditions we keep sacred.
And if our islands all sink beneath the waves, we will remember them in our craft and in our stories, we will remember the story of the brave Nukutai girl fighting off the Serres, we will remember them in the songs of Nukutaeao!
No matter whether it's an island or a ship we stand on, as long as we're together, Nukutaeao—our home—lies beneath our feet!
...
Didn't you say you would always have faith in me, Kamuta?
You believed I could lead our people to a better future.
Now, I believe in myself, too.
She raises her head, the shells on her chest heaving with every breath.
They tremble in unison, resonating with the collective energy of the Nukutai.
Heh heh.
You'll be a better leader than I ever was, Fatutu.
The expected reprimand never comes. She stares in shock at her brother,
at his lips curled into a faint smile, at his trembling hand still extended out to her, and ...
at the black blood seeping from his eyes and ears.
What's happening to you?!
*crash*
The towering figure before her falls to the ground.
I'm fine, Tutu. I'll be alright.
You're right, dear sister. The words you spoke have opened my eyes.
Pained words are forced through his blackened lips.
Brother!
As she cries out, heads turn toward her.
The mask remains tightly affixed to Kamuta's face, its black liquid nearly covering it entirely.
It's the mask's punishment!
I-I don't understand!
Manus Vindictae use their masks to sift out their most loyal followers. Those who pass the trial can retain their personality and memories.
However ...
If they should show any signs of faltering in their faith, the mask will punish them. Their consciousness will be devoured by the fathomless depths of arcanum.
Until they become nothing but a walking corpse, caught in eternal agony.
A slow clap breaks the silence.
Well, well, I am stunned by the breadth of your knowledge of our operations, Ms. Vertin.
But I must remind you: gossip like that is terribly bad manners.
Is it any wonder why our guests look so terrified?
Though it does pique my curiosity. I wonder, even with all you said, do they fear us more than they fear death?
Her commanding gaze hovers over the ship's passengers before finally landing on her former follower.
What a pity, Mr. Kamuta.
I had high hopes for you. It seems our friendship has come to an untimely end.
Her words are cold and emotionless, instilling a new fear in the crowd.
The people here know the truth about your masks. There's no sense trying to deceive them any longer!
Oh, is that so?
Grace slowly advances, her steps poised.
Timekeeper, stay behind me!
Sonetto imposes herself between the two, poised to fight.
Oh, what do we have here?
How adorable, the ever-loyal deputy leaps into action! *chuckle*
But we're on a tight schedule, and I don't have time to play games.
There's no power in your shiny little badge here.
She glances at the Foundation emblem on her chest.
Mr. Kamuta, Manus Vindictae will forever remember your contribution.
Farewell.
Fatutu, watch out!
*Slæstu í djúpan dvala.
Brother! No!
The arcane fluctuations gently dissipate around Grace.
Captain Grace!
What is it now, Ms. Barcarola?
I'm sure you've already guessed this, but you've been relieved of your duties here.
Gaining the support of the Nukutai was never your purpose, am I right?
Ms. Grace, give me back my friends!
Grace ignores Fatutu's shouts and slightly furrows her brow.
...
Oh, Vertin. I could almost delight in your cleverness, if it wasn't so damnably frustrating.
She snaps her fingers.
*clink*
A worn, oddly shaped Spirit Shell rolls to Grace's feet. She picks it up, as if greeting a long-lost friend.
A pity.
But there's no turning back now.
The room falls silent once more. There is no sound but the howling of the wind outside.
A burst of static echoes from the lobby's speakers.
Oh, dear!
The radio broadcast jolts the already frazzled guests.
Whoa!
The tinnitus-stricken guest looks up, the broadcast still hissing incomprehensibly.
The room falls briefly silent.
Then, it breaks into thunderous cheers and applause.
What?
21. Final Farewell
62 linesThe joy of this declaration has reached the hearts of the crowd.
Amid the cheers, more and more masks are cast aside.
You never cease to amaze me, do you?
Manus Vindictae have failed.
It would appear that way to you, wouldn't it, Ms. Vertin?
How shall I congratulate you?
A Manus messenger emerges behind Grace.
Ma'am, we've arrived at the target location.
We've gathered all the remaining shells and are ready to activate the teleportation ritual at any time.
Well, well. Time does fly, as they say. Be seeing you and sooner than you think!
Grace opens her pocket watch one last time before casually tossing it aside.
But before I go, consider this a parting gift from your captain, for old time's sake.
*boom*
An explosion booms from the ship's depths.
Grace gives an elegant bow.
Goodbye, my dear guests. From the bottom of my heart—
Thank you all for this unforgettable journey.
...!
*rumble*
That came from the engine room!
Those tin-headed bastards, they must have done something to it.
Go see what you can from the deck, Charlie!
The seasoned helmsmen hurriedly make their way to the deck.
Damn it all! They've blown a hole straight through the starboard hull!
While the helmsmen pace anxiously, Barcarola suddenly realizes the gravity of the situation.
Gentlemen, you can't possibly be saying that the "Free Breeze" is going to sink?!
The ship's tremors again. It's as if they're on a battlefield.
What's worse, that explosion came from over by the lifeboats!
These bastards are hellbent on making sure we all end up at the bottom of the sea!
The sound of tearing waves, humming steel plates, and crying guests pours into the cabin through shattered portholes.
The pitch-black sea stretches as far as the eye can see, its surface alive with turbulent, inky swirls.
There is another wave of panic as the ship tilts once again.
Help us, Ms. Barcarola! You promised to keep us safe!
And you, Miss!
Aren't you from the Foundation or whatever?! You said you'd protect us!
The guests are desperately clinging to any chance of salvation.
Please line up, everyone. My suitcase should be able to temporarily shelter some passengers.
Ms. Barcarola, do you know how many passengers are aboard?
The musician clearly knows every detail about the "Free Breeze."
About 1600 in total. But I think many of them will be injured. I don't know how well they can move.
My suitcase alone won't be able to transfer that many people in time.
Suddenly, the communicator clutched in Sonetto's hand makes a sharp sound.
Beep beep! Beep beep!
The signal's back, Timekeeper!
Just as we suspected, they were jamming our signal.
But how did they know our internal frequency?
She quickly brushes this question aside. There are more urgent matters to attend to.
This is Vertin. Please come in.
We're currently aboard the cruise ship "Free Breeze," at coordinates 55.35°S, 65.01°W.
The engine has been destroyed by Manus Vindictae, and the ship is taking on water fast.
There are more than 1600 passengers aboard. But we won't be able to evacuate every passenger through my suitcase alone before the ship goes under.
We're in need of immediate rescue.
Understood. We will dispatch rescue resources and personnel from the nearest branch as soon as possible. Before their arrival, please do everything possible to minimize casualties.
Ms. Barcarola, could you point me towards the radio room? I believe our friends may be in need of help.
Of course.
Sonetto jogs away in the pointed direction.
The creaking of the ship's planks grows louder, and its railings and rigging groan painfully. Their sound carries on the freezing wind, and whips at the ears of the crowd.
Shivering from the cold, Barcarola remembers something.
Wait. Ms. Grace wasn't the captain for long. It's possible she didn't know about the ship's backup lifeboats. They might still be intact.
Good thinking, Ms. Barcarola!
You're a natural-born captain!
Everyone, follow me!
22. Without Regret
62 linesThe room is cloaked in oppressive shadow, as if harboring a menacing spirit.
A gentleman emerges from the darkness.
You did well, Apostle.
He examines the Spirit Shells, the lifelong emotions of the Nukutai lightly clinking in his hands.
These are splendid.
They will ensure the overflow of ritual energy will be properly contained.
To be frank, I had my doubts about your capabilities.
You're still wet behind the ears, and you haven't yet gotten enough blood on those hands of yours.
The apostle bows. Her pale hand is clinging to the doorframe.
I am willing to do anything for THEIR return.
Forget Me Not offers her an encouraging smile.
Still, you surpassed my expectations.
...
Her hand is trembling.
You look tired.
Life at sea must have taken its toll on you. Relax now. You're home.
As you wish.
She takes a deep breath and hides her trembling fingers behind her back.
You will play an important role in our upcoming plans.
Rest well, Apostle.
I will.
Grace's hand freezes as she goes to close the door. Her hesitation is evident.
...
Thank you, Mr. Forget Me Not.
Heh heh.
As she shuts the door, Forget Me Not's outline blurs, and his smile vanishes into the shadows.
...
Steadying herself, Grace slowly moves toward the faint glimmer of light.
...
The wind whipping through the corridor causes her to shiver.
...!
She presses her back against the door and slides to the ground.
*cough*
Trembling, she crawls into the nearest coffin.
A display case meant for the next specimen.
...
♪ ...
♪ ... ♫ ...
It's hard to see here. Please hold onto each other and follow the sound of my music.
Thank you so much, Ms. Barcarola! If it weren't for you, we never would've survived!
You're so courageous!
But what if there aren't enough lifeboats for everyone?
Will we have to leave anyone behind?
The guest's shivering questions are scattered by the sea breeze.
They shudder and stumble as they follow the music.
The sky is dark, but the churning clouds are no longer noisy. The cries of gulls and the crashing of waves merge with the weeping of the crowd.
They make their way through corridors and staircases for what seems like an eternity, their faces steeped in shadow.
I don't want to die like this. There are still so many things I want to do!
*sob* I want to go home. Even if the "Storm" changes everything, I just want to go ...
We have talked about it, and the Nukutai are willing to give up their spots if there aren't enough boats for everyone.
We want to make amends for what happened earlier.
Fatutu, this wasn't your people's fault.
The "Free Breeze" will not abandon any of its passengers.
...
She raises her Crackling Box high, her face flushing red.
You have my word as the official musical director, and I suppose, the acting captain.
Barcarola, what have you done to your Crackling Box?
*Sinfonia gioiosa, dividetevi con grazia!
Oh, Ms. Barcarola, not your zanfona! I remember you telling us how hard you worked to find it.
I haven't seen one of those since my time in Galicia.
You've turned them into boats! Ms. Barcarola, you're not just a great musician, you're a kind soul, too!
You saved us!
23. Finding Home on the Waves
54 linesSeawater soaks the tips of her hair, the hem of her tweed skirt ripples among the waves.
The violin once hidden within the Crackling Box nestles against her, its neck, body, and tailpiece interlocking ... a small boat from the past buoying her steadily.
Barcarola realizes a terrifying truth, one she has long ignored.
It's just like what Papà and Mamma said ...
"Our cheeky little pumpkin's violin should have a rich and bright tone —not too sharp or unbalanced—just like her."
"Let's ask Mr. Belli for some top-notch spruce or maple wood —the best that Cremona can offer!"
"We'll need some glue for the neck joint and plenty of varnish."
"Of course. This is a Cremona violin we're talking about."
"Most important of all, it will be a violin for our little Barcarola."
The voices sound so close, as if they were spoken just yesterday.
As much as I try to deny it, I suppose my heart is still there with them.
A gentle breeze blows as she finally recognizes that little wisp of smoke lingering in her heart.
She clutches the violin even tighter.
Papà, Mamma, and Cremona.
A solid embrace, infused with the scent of rain and warmth, silently envelops her.
The rain has finally stopped.
The horizon shimmers faintly with a golden light once more.
We did it.
Congratulations, Timekeeper.
I should be the one congratulating you. Don't you think, Mr. "Fish Tank"?
The ferrofluid in the glass tank struggles to form a V.
It's an odd twist of fate, isn't it?
Indeed. I've just reported our findings to Laplace. With this, our research on the "Storm" can finally advance to a new stage.
I've even managed to develop a taste for rock 'n' roll.
♪ ... ♫ ...
Speaking of the "Storm" ...
Sonetto looks up at the sky, the reflection of the light on the water glimmering on her face.
This unfortunate cruise has finally come to an end.
Hey, here comes the sun! Woo-hoo!
I never doubted you, Timekeeper. There was no "Storm," not this time anyway.
Thank you for your continued trust, Sonetto.
The sound of the waves seems to fade away as it's replaced by a new melody.
Smashing! This is sure to be the most fabulous boat party ever held! I wouldn't miss it for the world!
Familiar and foreign songs from countless lands intertwine as voices carry gently over the sea.
Regulus paddles fiercely toward the music.
Oh, give me a home where the buffalo roam, where the deer and the antelope play.
Where seldom is heard a discouraging word, and the skies are not cloudy all day.
There we have spent many an hour, sitting in a joyful circle.
And we sang, the songs resounding in the oak grove.
By moonlight, little can be seen.
They looked for the pen, they looked for the fire.
Melancholy of the past visits my soul this tranquil morn.
When I go out to see her, she flies back to her home.
A familiar ballad leaves Barcarola's lips.
Silver stars shine upon the sea.
Feel the gentle waves and warm breeze.
Sail with me beneath the stars.
Santa Lucia, Santa Lucia.
You have a truly heavenly voice, Barcarola!
I've never heard that song before. Where's it from?
Oh, I know! It must be from Cremona!
N-No! It's a Neapolitan song. It has nothing to do with Cremona!
That's a Foundation helicopter!
That island ...