The bridge door seals shut behind you as the Atntic Provider’s engines settle into their new, silenced hum.

  You don’t linger.

  Erza reaches the deck rail first, already scanning the waterline. The rope dder is still in pce, swaying gently against the hull. Below, the RIB idles in position, Albedo’s presence a steady anchor through the telepathy web.

  “Clear below,” Albedo reports calmly. “No movement on adjacent decks.”

  Hinata moves to the rail and looks down, Byakugan fring briefly. “No hostile signatures. Tanker crew remains on the bridge and aft sections.”

  You nod once. “Down we go.”

  Erza descends first, controlled and efficient, boots finding each rung without hesitation. You follow close behind, the dder cold and damp under your hands as the tanker’s mass shifts subtly beneath you. Hinata comes st, chakra-enhanced grip making the descent effortless.

  You step off into the RIB. Erza releases the dder, and eases the craft clear of the hull in one smooth motion.

  Only once you’re moving does the wider picture flow back in. Robin’s voice enters the telepathy web, distant, analytical. “I’m observing the Fitzgerald now,” she reports. “Crew posture is disciplined. No weapons drawn. Bridge crew consists of three officers, all focused on navigation and escort telemetry. No hostile intent detected.”

  A second presence yers in, cool and precise. Nova, from the Portnd’s tower. “Visual confirmation. Fitzgerald holding escort position retive to the tanker. No unusual maneuvering. Rawlins and Doyle remain outside immediate engagement range.”

  Rika follows, radio chatter threaded neatly into the web. “Intercepted fleet traffic only. Morales has not responded to Rawlins’ st transmission. No change in posture.”

  Hinata adds her own confirmation, eyes briefly shifting as she scans through steel and distance. “Twenty-eight crew total aboard the Fitzgerald. Most are sleeping below deck. Bridge crew shows elevated stress but no aggression patterns. Captain Morales is awake, standing near the helm.”

  You exhale once, slow. “Alright. Take us in.”

  The RIB cuts across dark water toward the Fitzgerald’s hull, navigation lights casting amber reflections across the chop. Robin now stands at the Portnds bow, one hand resting lightly on the rail, her physical body present, her attention elsewhere, eyes blooming and fading across the destroyer like silent observers.

  Erza brings the RIB alongside as a rope dder drops.

  You climb first this time, boots finding purchase on wet rungs. Erza follows close behind, movements efficient and controlled. Hinata brings up the rear.

  Three sailors wait at the top, hands empty, posture cautious but professional. One steps forward, a lieutenant, early thirties, dark hair in a tight bun. “Sir. Captain Morales is expecting you on the bridge.”

  "Lead the way, dies," you say easily, stepping onto the deck. "A quick step into the bridge, and you'll be off to the North Sea."

  The lieutenant's mouth twitches, not quite a smile, but close. "This way."

  She leads you through the narrow corridor into the bridge. It's rger than the tanker's but still cramped, radar screens, tactical dispys, helm controls, and a rge navigation table dominating the center. Captain Morales stands beside the helm, arms crossed, watching your approach. He's younger than Keller, mid-forties, clean-shaven, sharp eyes that miss nothing.

  "Brad Collins," he says simply. "Saw the tanker light up gold from here. Impressive."

  "As functional as it is pretty," you reply. "Same treatment for you. Interface access locked to you only. Navy package, everything your crew needs for the long haul."

  Morales gestures toward a secondary console mounted beside the helm. "That one's yours. Primary systems stay untouched."

  You move to the console, pcing your palm ft against the screen. Golden light spreads slowly from your fingertips, deliberate and theatrical. You pull mana from the Portnd, feeding it carefully into the Fitzgerald's systems. Connection first, linking the ship into a unified whole. Then Interface, giving Morales control. Network Node, allowing mana distribution across the vessel. Energy Conversion, turning the destroyer's powerful engines into a mana generator.

  The enchantments yer in systematically: Refuel, Repair, Refill. Then the crew systems, Cleanliness, Thermostasis, Sustenance, Vigor, Regeneration, Age Reduction(Locked, Ratio 1:1) Lucidity, Zero-Sleep, Aura Ward, Warding Field, Muffling Aura, Silent Field locked to engines.

  The bridge lights flicker once. The ever-present hum of the engines shifts, smooths, becomes almost imperceptible. Fuel gauges crawl. Diagnostic alerts vanish one by one. A faint golden pulse ripples through the bulkheads before fading.

  The screen stabilizes, dispying a simple menu: Enchantment Status, Fuel Management, Crew Systems, Diagnostics, Tactical Integration.

  "Captain Morales," you say quietly. "Touch the screen."

  He reaches out without hesitation, pressing his palm ft against the gss. The interface pulses once. Text appears: Primary User: Captain Luis Morales.

  "You're the only one who can access this," you expin. "Fuel generation is active. Repairs are automatic. Your crew won't need food or water while aboard. Silent Field keeps your engines quiet. Warding Field provides passive protection, adjustable through the interface. Take your time reading each effect and their details."

  Morales stares at the screen, then looks up at you. His expression is unreadable for several seconds. Then he nods once, sharp and decisive. "Understood. Five weeks to the North Sea. We'll make it count."

  You turn toward the door. Hinata and Erza fall in behind you without a word.

  You step off the Fitzgerald's deck into the RIB, Hinata and Erza fnking you with practiced efficiency. The craft cuts across dark water toward the frigate, its silhouette smaller than the destroyer but still imposing against the predawn sky.

  Captain Alvarez's vessel sits low in the water, running lights casting amber reflections across the chop. The rope dder drops as you approach. Hinata walks up the side, chakra-enhanced grip making the ascent effortless. Erza climbs first this time, boots finding wet rungs with steady rhythm. You follows close behind, her skirt shifting with each movement, another glimpse of dark red ce you file away for ter teasing.

  Four sailors wait at the rail, weapons holstered but visible. One steps forward, a stocky man in his fifties, captain's insignia on his colr, graying hair cropped military-short. His expression is guarded, calcuting.

  "Captain Alvarez," he says ftly. "You're the enchanter."

  "Brad Collins," you reply. "Same treatment as the others. Quick and clean. You'll be escorting that tanker to the North Sea with full fuel independence and crew support."

  Alvarez's jaw tightens. "I saw the tanker and the Fitzgerald light up. Still hard to believe."

  "Good, religion will be a nightmare for the next five to fifty years." you say evenly.

  He gestures toward the superstructure entrance without further comment. The corridor is narrower than the Fitzgerald's, ceiling lower, walls closer. The bridge is cramped, tactical dispys, helm controls, a navigation table cluttered with charts. A secondary console sits mounted beside the helm, dispying fuel readings and engine diagnostics.

  "That one," Alvarez says, pointing.

  You pce your palm ft against the screen. Golden light spreads slowly from your fingertips, deliberate and theatrical. You pull mana from the Portnd's network node, feeding it carefully into the frigate's systems. Connection first, linking the ship's infrastructure into a unified whole. Then Interface. Network Node, allowing mana distribution across the vessel. Energy Conversion, turning the frigate's engines into a mana generator.

  The enchantments yer in systematically: Refuel, Repair, Refill. Then the crew systems, Cleanliness, Thermostasis, Sustenance, Vigor, Regeneration, Age Reduction (locked, ratio 1:1), Lucidity, Zero-Sleep, Aura Ward, Warding Field, Muffling Aura, Silent Field locked to engines.

  The bridge lights flicker once. The engine hum shifts, smooths becomes almost imperceptible. Fuel gauges crawl upward. Diagnostic alerts vanish one by one. A faint golden pulse ripples through the bulkheads before fading.

  The screen stabilizes, dispying a simple menu: Enchantment Status, Fuel Management, Crew Systems, Diagnostics, Tactical Integration.

  "Captain Alvarez," you say quietly. "Touch the screen."

  He hesitates for three full seconds, then reaches out. His calloused fingers press the gss. The interface pulses once. Text appears: Primary User: Captain Ricardo Alvarez.

  "You're the only one who can access this," you expin. "Fuel generation is active. Repairs are automatic. Your crew won't need food or water while aboard. Silent Field keeps your engines quiet. Warding Field provides passive protection, adjustable through the interface. Don't tamper with the enchantments, and don't hit anything with a hammer."

  Alvarez stares at the screen, then at you. "And what do you want in return?"

  “I said it in the first broadcast,” you reply evenly. “Most of this is on credit, if I’m paid at all. I’m not military, and everything I actually need, I just enchanted onto these ships. Maybe in fifty years I’ll ask you to deliver some decent European wine.”

  Alvarez exhales slowly. The calcution in his eyes doesn’t vanish, but it reframes. “I’ll hold you to that,” he says.

  You turn toward the door. Hinata and Erza fall in behind you without a word.

  As you descend the dder back to the RIB, Rika's voice enters the telepathy web, calm but pointed. "Two destroyer-css contacts accelerating. Rawlins and Doyle. Three nautical miles and closing. ETA twelve minutes."

  You touch the RIB's console, golden light flickering briefly as the lightbend enchantment activates. The craft shimmers once, then vanishes from visible spectrum - a ripple of refracted light against bck water.

  "Well now," you say quietly, voice carrying through the telepathy web. "It seems somebody is doing something stupid."

  Erza's hands tighten on the wheel without comment, already adjusting course back toward the Portnd. Hinata shifts her stance beside you, Byakugan fring as she tracks the approaching destroyer contacts.

  "Rika, Nova, Albedo," you continue through the web, calm and directive. "We're heading back to the Portnd now. Two minutes out. Meet us in Webb's command center."

  Rika's response comes immediately, crisp and professional. "Acknowledged. Moving now."

  Nova follows half a second ter. "Confirmed. Descending from overwatch."

  Albedo's voice carries a faint edge of anticipation. "Understood. Standing by in well-deck. I will proceed to command center once you dock."

  "Robin," you add, focusing your mental voice toward her presence aboard the Portnd. "See if you can get eyes and ears on the captains of those two approaching ships. Rawlins and Doyle, I think Reeves said their names were. I need to know what they're pnning."

  There's a pause - brief, thoughtful. Then Robin's voice returns, smooth and analytical. "Understood. Manifesting now. This may take several minutes to position discreetly."

  The RIB cuts through dark water, invisible save for the faint wake it leaves behind. The Portnd's bulk grows rger ahead, well-deck lights casting amber paths across the chop. Erza guides the craft with precision, angling toward the flooded entrance without slowing.

  Hinata announces quietly beside you, eyes still active. "Both destroyers are accelerating. Rawlins is transmitting again - I can see his bridge crew moving urgently. Doyle's vessel is repositioning to block our previous route."

  "They expected to block us on our return to the Portnd," you reply evenly. "They're about to be disappointed."

  Erza brings the RIB alongside the well-deck ramp, cutting the engine smoothly. Deck crews move into position, hands reaching for mooring lines - then hesitating as they realize they can't see the craft clearly. One sailor squints, confused.

  "It's here," you call out, deactivating lightbend with a thought. The RIB resolves into visibility, startling two of the crew. "Just invisible. Secure the lines."

  They move quickly, professional despite their surprise. You step off onto the ramp, Hinata and Erza fnking you immediately. Albedo rises from her position aboard the second RIB, wings folding close as she moves to join you.

  The four of you move through the corridor toward the command center without speaking aloud, your coordination flowing through the telepathy web in silent efficiency. Sailors step aside as you pass, eyes tracking your group with caution.

  The command center door opens before you reach it. Captain Webb stands beside the tactical dispy, jaw tight. Colonel Reeves leans over a console, monitoring radio traffic with sharp focus. Both look up as you enter.

  Rika and Nova are already present, standing near the far wall. Rika's tablet glows softly in her hands. Nova's violet eyes track the tactical map with predator focus.

  Webb straightens, one hand braced against the tactical table.

  "Brad. Rawlins has formally transmitted a protective custody demand. He’s citing emergency fleet security authority."

  He taps the dispy again, highlighting a second vector.

  "Doyle hasn’t said a word. He’s repositioning to block the approach corridor instead. Intercept geometry, not escort."

  You study the tactical dispy for a moment, expression ft. “Even if they grab me, what do they think they’ve gained?”

  Webb exhales through his nose, slow and controlled. “Rawlins thinks custody equals authority. He believes if he can put you on his deck, regutions and rank will force compliance. In his head, this becomes a command-and-control problem.”

  He taps the second vector. “Doyle’s different. He doesn’t care about legality. He wants to position himself so you have to negotiate through him. Chokepoints, access denial, dependency. He thinks leverage will do what orders can’t.”

  Webb looks back at you, jaw tight. “They’re both wrong. But they’re wrong in different ways.”

  Reeves adds without looking up, “And both of them are underestimating how much worse this gets if they push you into non-cooperation.”

  You take a slow breath, then let it out through your nose. “The exact mentalities that make me hate enforcement types.”

  Webb doesn’t argue. He doesn’t need to.

  A faint shift passes through the room as Robin’s presence sharpens inside the telepathy web. Then sound arrives. Then vision.

  The first shows Rawlins’s bridge. Harsh lighting. Tense posture. Officers clustered too tightly around the command console. Rawlins stands rigid, one hand braced on the rail, jaw clenched as he speaks into an open mic.

  “This is not optional,” Rawlins snaps. “He is a strategic asset operating outside formal command authority. Secure custody is required under emergency regution-”

  An aide leans in, whispers something urgent. Rawlins cuts him off with a sharp gesture.

  The second shows Doyle’s bridge. Quieter. Colder. No raised voices. Doyle sits in the captain’s chair, fingers steepled, eyes on a navigation overy showing the Portnd and approach vectors. “We don’t need to seize him,” Doyle says calmly, to no one in particur. “We just need him to realize there’s only one way out that doesn’t involve deys.”

  No orders. No shouting. Just positioning.

  Robin’s voice overys both feeds, calm and precise. “Rawlins believes command authority will force compliance once physical custody is established. Doyle is deliberately avoiding formal decrations. He intends to manufacture dependency through access control. Neither is pnning immediate violence.”

  Webb straightens. “That’s enough.”

  He steps to the communications console and opens a fleet-wide channel. His voice is level, unambiguous, and carries command weight. “This is Captain Webb of the USS Portnd. Captain Rawlins, your request for protective custody is formally denied. Brad Collins is operating under cooperative logistical authority with my command. There is no legal or operational justification for seizure.”

  A pause. Webb continues without hesitation. “Any attempt to interfere with ongoing enchantment operations or restrict vessel movement will be treated as hostile obstruction of fleet-wide survival logistics. Disengage and maintain distance.”

  He cuts the channel. For a moment, only the hum of systems fills the room.

  You turn toward Webb. “I’ve got three ideas,” you say evenly.

  You raise one finger. “One. We leave. Invisible. RIBs. This becomes a Navy problem, not mine.”

  A second finger. “Two. You agreed to vehicle transfers. Send the LARCs to Trinidad. If they attack, they attack vessels of the USS Portnd. If they don’t, they keep barking and prove they’re idiots. Either way, progress continues.”

  A third finger. “Three. We take the RIBs south to Eureka. Make them choose. Chase us, or confront you. Either option deys this until the next tanker wave and escorts arrive. Six hours, right? Plenty of time to outnumber two destroyers pying politics.”

  You lower your hand.

  “All three options undercut their perceived leverage. Pick the one that wastes the least time.”

  Webb studies you for a long second, then looks back at the tactical dispy as Rawlins’s ship hesitates and Doyle’s vector adjusts by a fraction of a degree.

  Reeves exhales slowly. “They really don’t understand what non-cooperation means.”

  You answer slowly, voice ft. “This is why we put the warning in the initial video. If they want to py politics with you, just tell me which ships not to enchant.”

  That nds.

  Webb’s eyes flick to you, then back to the tactical dispy. He straightens fully, decision settling into pce.

  “The LARCs are Portnd assets,” he says evenly. “They haven’t unched, and that’s deliberate.”

  He keys the console, opening an open fleet command channel. His voice is calm, unmistakably authoritative.

  “Captain Rawlins. This is Captain Webb.”

  Rawlins appears on the dispy almost instantly, jaw tight.

  “For crity,” Webb continues, “any nding craft deployed from USS Portnd operate under my direct command. Any attempt to interfere with Portnd assets, unched or otherwise, will be treated as a direct challenge to this command.”

  Rawlins stiffens. “With respect, Captain, my concern is the civilian-”

  “There is no civilian transfer,” Webb cuts in cleanly. “There is no custody. There is no authority for you to assert one.”

  Silence.

  “I am considering deployment of logistics craft to Trinidad Harbor as part of fuel distribution operations. Your current posture is being logged.”

  Silence stretches.

  On the tactical dispy, Rawlins’s destroyer holds speed but does not close further.

  Robin’s voice slips into the telepathy web, precise and immediate. “Rawlins is angry, but boxed in. His legal officer is advising that interference before unch would be indefensible. He’s waiting to see if you commit.”

  The second feed shifts, Doyle’s bridge.

  Doyle watches the exchange with narrowed eyes, fingers steepled.

  Robin continues. “Doyle is recalcuting. He expected Rawlins to force escation. Without that, he risks being the sole aggressor.”

  Webb turns slightly toward you. “I haven’t unched them,” he says quietly. “Because the moment I do, they have to choose.”

  Reeves nods once. “Attack Portnd assets... or stand down and expose themselves.”

  Webb’s mouth tightens into something close to satisfaction. “And either way, the record is clean.”

  On the dispy, the LARCs remain secured in the well deck.Idle.Waiting.

  Rawlins holds position.

  Doyle adjusts course a fraction, just enough to signal restraint.

  For now.

  SnafuSam