Chapter 48

# Day 16 – 15:21

By the time the core crew assembled in the command room, the hallways had already bled red. Every bulkhead pulsed with emergency LED strips, the color of overripe strawberries and cardiac arrest. Zhao hadn’t seen it this way since the last ride through the ship graveyard—when half the glass shattered and the other half tried to suffocate them with fire. That time, the red was a warning. This time, it felt like an accusation.

Verne was already there, boots braced wide, arms folded behind her back. Her face was carved out of hard intention. Next to her, Linh, glasses slightly askew, working two tablets in parallel. Maggie entered last, trailed by Victoria, whose pink tank top and metallic leggings clashed with the rest of the crew’s blackout civvies.

“Take seats,” Verne said, her voice slicing through the static.

No one argued. Zhao claimed the second chair from the end—close enough to hear, far enough to be ignored if needed. Kim wandered in, wiping oil off her hands with a rag that left more behind than it removed.

Linh threw the drone video up on the main monitor: the Red Solstice, horizon to horizon, cutting through the ocean at a steady, predatory drift. Every camera angle lingered on the hull, the glass, the solar awning stretched above like the skin of a shark.

For a minute, they just watched it.

Verne started. “You all know what this is. But I’ll remind you.” She paced, the old captain’s tick returning in the way her heels drilled the floor. “Red Solstice: thirty-four meters, composite hull, owned by Carmona Holdings. Private security was a running joke—until Outbreak, when their fleet disappeared.”

She let it settle. “They’re back. And their first move is to shadow us.”

Victoria snorted. “Classic Rosa. Can’t stand to let someone else have the last word.”

Verne shot her a look. “You’ve met the owner?”

Victoria grinned, almost wicked. “Couple times. Long story.”

Kim snorted. "Rich bitch threw these insane parties in the middle of nowhere. Loved making us play volleyball against her crew—total setup. Called it 'friendly,' but she'd bet on everything." She cracked her knuckles, grinning. "Once wagered a whole crate of Krug against our former captain. Drank him under the table, then made everyone—everyone—wear these stupid-ass clown wigs for two days straight. Total power move." She leaned forward, voice dropping. "Always ran skeleton crew though. Fifteen, twenty max. For a boat that size? Sketchy as hell."

Maggie leaned in, her jaw clenched. “Security headcount is closer to fifty now. See the deck, here.” She tapped the monitor. “All armed. Not show pieces, either—real hardware. You don’t run that many bodies unless you’re planning a boarding.”

Kim rolled her eyes. “Or a hostile takeover.”

Verne ignored the comment. “With that many people, they’re burning through supplies fast. If they’re running lean, they’ll want to take us clean. Minimize casualties, maximize loot.”

Zhao glanced at the drone footage again. There were at least five visible patrols on deck, two with rifles on slings, all in matching matte-black jumpsuits. No sign of a flag or insignia.

Linh zoomed in. “Sensors say six electric drives, all high-output. Last year, the build wasn’t finished. Now it’s at least double spec. They can outrun us if they go full throttle.”

Kim wiped her hands, then said, “I got invited over for a tour, once. Chief engineer showed me the whole setup. It’s not just batteries—they’ve got supercapacitors and fuel cells as backup. If Rosa wanted, she could blast past us and circle the globe in a week.”

Verne gave her the floor. “They’re sprinting?”

Kim shook her head. “No. Playing cat. Watching, waiting. They’re slow, conserving juice.”

Victoria slouched in her chair. “Rosa isn’t reckless. She’s a predator. She’ll let us tire out, then pounce. She always played the long game.”

Verne shifted focus. “Vivienne. Any idea what’s going on inside that ship?”

The air got ten degrees colder. Vivienne crossed the room, chin up, eyes bright with calculation. “Rosa Carmona is the least sentimental person alive. She hates men—always has—but she’ll use anyone if it gets her ahead. When we were kids, she gamed school elections by bribing the cafeteria staff. In college, she started a blackmail ring against her own professors. Every time she failed at something, she pivoted and doubled the bet.”

Maggie grunted. “She’ll want to break us, not just win.”

Vivienne nodded. “If we look like a threat, she’ll destroy us. If she thinks she can take us, she’ll try. If we look weak, she’ll recruit us—at gunpoint, if she has to.”

Verne summarized: “If Rosa calls, we answer. If she boards, we fight. If we run, we die tired.”

There was a silence, the kind that’s less about reflection and more about waiting for the next disaster.

Zhao wanted to ask what the point was, if the only choices were death or servitude. But the answer was written on every face in the room. They’d survived by never blinking first.

Kim piped up. “Look—she’s got the power, but not the food. Their fancy vertical gardens might look pretty, but they won’t produce enough calories to keep fifty bodies running, and I’ve seen their pantry—three months, tops, before they’re sucking on leather. They’ll come for our stockpile. The protein bank, the seeds, maybe even the gene records.”

Maggie nodded. “I say we preempt. Damage their sensors, make it look like a storm did it. Slow them down.”

Verne cut her off. “No. That’s how we lose the advantage. If they want us, let them come close. We control where they hit us, not the other way around.”

Maggie cleared her throat. “If we’re boarded, we set up in the forward hull. Choke point at the main stair, killbox above. I’ll train the security team on rotation. Anyone who can shoot, learns. Even the medics.”

Verne looked at Zhao. “And you?”

He hesitated. “I don’t know what you want me to do.”

The captain’s eyes softened. “Keep the morale up. Your team—Mei-Lin, Aida, Vivienne—make sure they’re ready. We need every hand.”

He nodded.

Vivienne caught his eye. “Rosa will try to bargain first. She loves power plays.” Her lips curled, not quite a smile. “But she doesn’t know about you. You’re the wild card.”

Verne nodded. "Everyone else, prep your stations. We're in—"

The comms panel lit up with an incoming signal. Three short pulses, one long—the universal maritime distress pattern. The room froze. On the monitor, the Red Solstice's silhouette seemed to grow larger, though they hadn't changed course.

"Incoming transmission," Linh whispered, fingers hovering over the accept button. "It's them."

Verne's jaw tightened as she gave a single, sharp nod. "Put it through."