[405] 5.29 Five Thousand Leagues (or so) Under the Sea

Even after just a few hours aboard the Oklahoma, I find myself reevaluating many of the surface comforts I had previously taken for granted.  Yes, I had spent entire days in my laboratory on… a couple of occasions.  Yes, Chloe and I have had marathon sessions in our dungeon that have gone from nightfall into the middle of morning without either of us knowing.

Being trapped in here without the ability to leave, however, has a way of enforcing a degree of claustrophobia even when I have no real proclivity toward it up on the surface.  At a depth of seven thousand feet, the air is thick and cold and there’s no longer any semblance of day versus night where the sun literally does not shine.

I have no training on submarine operations, and I’m not so confident in my assessment of what every glyph on the boat— not a ship, as I’ve been informed— does to try to make any modifications.  Ethertech electronics technically work, but we’ve been instructed not to use them due to the risk of them being divined, even though I very explicitly cannot be tracked by any magical methods.  Yes, I said as much.  No, the captain and the general did not care.

And yes, I did try to have some fun with Chloe to at least do something productive as we travel.  But no, we can’t do that either because we have to remain ‘at maximum combat readiness’ and prepared to engage the enemy at a moment’s notice.  So I’m stuck just practicing my [Ether] manipulation exercises to pass the time.  Right now, I’m trying to control multiple flows of [Ether] throughout my body simultaneously, in the hopes of developing some sort of evolutionary path for [Multidimensional Twincasting].  Unfortunately, I’m not having any breakthroughs.

A knock comes from outside my room.  “May I come in?” Lindsey asks.

I allow it, and she enters.

“How do you do it?” I ask her.  “Maintain your focus and not go insane out of pure boredom while on board for however long of a time?”

“A lot of practice in the military before the System arrived.  I was in the Rangers, as part of the Army, so I was never slated for submarine duty.  But even in basic training, we were drilled and hazed, and sometimes someone in the corps would act up and we’d all have to sit silently or do push-ups or run for however long our commanding officer or NCO saw fit.  Because of that, we all learned to get comfortable with our thoughts in a hurry.”

I nod.  A few years ago, I would have balked at the unfairness of collective punishment.  Having taught combat training and supervised dungeon delves for years now, I now completely get it.  One person screwing around puts everyone in the delve in jeopardy.  And chances are, it won’t be the fuckup who bears the brunt of their incompetence.  Learned that lesson firsthand in a dungeon called The Shrine of Faces located just south of Kansas City.

“By the way, Sera,” Lindsey says, her voice now picking up in mischief.  “When is the wedding scheduled?”

My eyes widen.  “I didn’t mention anything about a wedding.”

“Yeah, but you’ve each got new rings.  It doesn’t take a genius to recognize that they’re engagement rings.”

“Did Chloe tell you we were engaged?”

“No.  You did just now.”  I pout, and Lindsey just smirks.  “You really aren’t good at operational security.”

I stare at her indignantly, and she continues.  “It’s not a bad thing.  You’re just too pure in your intentions.  You wear your heart on your sleeve, you speak your mind honestly, and you do not let things like the expectations of others or cultural mores deter you from following the path you choose.  Honestly, the world would be a better place if more people were like that.”

“You don’t say it with all that much conviction.”  My eyes gaze past Lindsey, back to the door behind her.  “And it sure sounds like you consider that a problem.”

“It’s not ideal when there are others who harbor duplicitous ambitions.  Sometimes it takes a crook to catch one.”

“And you’re saying that you’re the crook sent to help us?  I’m not sure if that was meant to be reassuring.”

Lindsey shrugs.  “I’ve done enough work in reconnaissance, intelligence, and counterintelligence to have some idea of how those sorts of people think.  And, to change the subject, you recently hit Level 96, didn’t you?”

“I did.  Why?”

“Just figured you might make a good sparring partner, that’s all.”

“I guess that’s what I get for taking a few years off from the grind.”

“I’m only Level 101.”  Only, she says,   She claps her hands and rises with refined movements.  There’s not so much as a hair out of place as she assumes a simple combat stance.

“Right now?”

“We’ll go slowly, of course.  Just an opportunity to practice hand-to-hand motions.  Unless you’ve got a more productive use of your time.”

“Chloe, do you want to come watch?”

“I’ll be right there.”  And she is, three seconds later, taking what had moments before been my seat on the bed.

Lindsey and I face each other as the submarine’s engines continue to hum.  Neither of us makes a sound or a movement.  Her posture is completely natural, even as I shift into a defensive posture.  It’s been far too long since I’ve done this.  My posture is curled inward, defensive even though she’s not so much as breathed in my direction.  I’m running about a hundred calculations per second, peering past the veil and checking every direction through my [Veilsight] and rapid saccades, hoping to at least not be completely embarrassed by whatever is about to happen.

Lindsey strolls toward me, arms swinging at her sides, eyes forward, posture immaculate.  She turns at the last moment.  Her face shows no signs of betraying her intent right up until the instant her left hand attempts to grab at my shirt under my armor.  I slap the hand aside.

She picks up the pace.  Her movements are measured and calculated, and I understand now that the purpose of the training isn’t just about going through hand-to-hand motions.  This is a test of skill and more importantly, control.  She wants to see how fast I can move while not flailing around with unnecessary movements.  A mental test disguised as a physical one.

I grapple her wrist with my metallic arm.  It takes but a tenth of a second until she spins her arm toward my thumb and breaks free, her [Strength] enough to overpower my mechanical joints.  She retaliates with a gut check as a feint.  I step back, then rotate around to avoid stepping backward into the bed.

Her movements pick up again.  My first instinct is to fly away to gain some distance and reassess.  My second is to phase into subspace.  My third is to start launching [Repulsion] barriers to protect myself.  I do none of them, as it would defeat the purpose of this exercise.

Her strikes are aimed at my core.  She wants me to make a committal move— to leap into the air, duck down, anything that compromises my long-term defenses.  I instead calculate the speed of her fist and counter with equal momentum.  The force of the impact is enough to form a loud crunch.  Neither of us is fazed, nor do either of us relent by even a millimeter.

Now we’re fighting at an appreciable fraction of our maximum speed.  I’m not hard of breath, but my mind is starting to grow taxed from calculating all the different trajectories she could take, all the follow-ups that might or might not happen.  Here, my inexperience is starting to show.  With each exchange, I’m being forced backward.  I hesitate under the pressure, while Lindsey’s movements are clean and precise even now.

I clad myself in my exoskeleton, though I do not spawn my wings just yet.  Lindsey shows no surprise at the transformation.  By now we’re throwing six to eight punches and chops each second and I’m starting to fatigue.  Lindsey is still holding back.  It irritates me that I’ve allowed her to catch up and even surpass me in these years of peace.  It frustrates me that she’s still so calm.  We’re not fighting all-out, but she’s reading me like a goddess-damned book.  Like she knows what I’m going to do even before I do it, even with no facial expressions or eye movements that might give me away.  Unless…  Does she have a perception ability that rivals or even exceeds [Veilsight]?

I drop to the ground to evade a chop to the right side of my abdomen.  Her left leg is kicking upward even before I hit the dirt.  I catch the errant appendage.  She adjusts her momentum and attempts to dropkick the back of my neck.  I spin out of the way, but now she has me in a grapple and her arms are wrapped around my neck.  

The options are to either try to break free, to phase into subspace, or to throw her off.  All of them would require breaking the informal rules of our duel.

I drop to my knees and lower my head, retracting my exoskeleton as I accept my defeat.

Lindsey offers me her hand, which I accept, despite my humiliation.  “Not bad at all.”

“There’s no need to be paternalistic about it.  I lost, and I’ll use this humiliation to improve myself in the future.”

Lindsey’s eyes cross.  A blue panel appears in front of her, then turns around to face me.

[[Alacritous Mind (Rank XIV)]: Improves mental processing speed by (Skill Rank x 20)%.]

A simple effect.  No wall of text.  No detailed combination of multiple subspecialities and restrictions like many of mine have.  Yet brutally effective.  With a passive Skill like that and the terms of our engagement being what they were, it’s not surprising what the outcome was.

“I’m guessing your [Mind] is around… 300 or so?”

“Exactly that, as it turns out.  I’m surprised you could tell just from our spar.”

“You know I’ve spent a lot of time these past few years training new recruits into the Army.  Part of that work has meant assessing their combat capabilities.  What sort of Classes they have, their Skills, their previous training, discipline, abilities.  Just some of the many ways that the military has had to accommodate the System’s arrival in its recruitment, training, and developmental programs.”

“Sorry I wasn’t quite up to snuff.”

“Oh, you don’t have to be that modest, Seraphina.  We both know that everything about this little practice session was designed to favor me.  Had we actually been going all-out, I’m not confident the results would have been the same.”

I shrug.  She’s more skilled than she lets on, but she’s giving me face and I’m not going to turn it down.

“What about you, Chloe?” Lindsey asks.  “Do you want to have a go of it?  We’ve still got plenty of time before we arrive at our destination.”

“I’m not sure I’m really cut out for close-quarters combat.  My fighting class is entirely sword-focused, and I’d be at a massive disadvantage thanks to my small size and stature.”

“All the more reason why it’s important to have at least the basics down, if for no other reason than to know how to escape a situation that might not be in your best interests.”

“Then, very well.  I suppose there’s not much else to do but sit and wait.”

The submarine shakes, as though the universe itself has developed a sense of humor and has decided that this is the exact moment to fuck as all over.  The intercom in the boat blares alongside red strobing warning lights a moment later.

“All crew, assume battlestations.  Sergeant Reed, gather your companions and report to the bridge.  We’ve got trouble at four o’clock, and fast approaching.”

Alas, it seems that we do, in fact, have something else to do now besides sit and wait.  Fuck.