You exhale slowly, "So much for wasting the least time," you say. "Rika, swap me. I might as well take the dey to finish an enchantment I've been considering."

  Rika's eyes flick to you, then to the tactical dispy. Her expression doesn't change, but something shifts in her posture - straighter, sharper. She moves to stand beside Webb without hesitation.

  "Captain," she says evenly, voice carrying military precision without rank formality. "Brad's delegating briefly. I can coordinate tactical assessment while he works."

  Webb studies her for half a second, then nods once. “Acknowledged.”

  Settling back against the bulkhead between Nova and Albedo. Both women adjust immediately - Nova's shoulder pressing against yours with solid warmth, Albedo's wing folding close enough to brush your arm. You pull your phone from your pocket, open the D&D 3.5 app you'd downloaded years ago during a nostalgic gaming kick. The spell lists scroll past - Abjuration, Conjuration, Divination. You've been thinking about this framework for days. Not copying the spells, but creating intention that transtes into effect. A universal casting system.

  You start yering the enchantment carefully. Connection first - linking the framework to your existing magical system. Then the core logic: spell level determines cost, metamagic applies multipliers, insufficient mana causes harmless failure instead of catastrophic backsh.

  Golden light flickers faintly across the screen as you anchor the concept into your existing magic system.

  You define the structure carefully:

  Spell level determines cost

  Metamagic applies clean multipliers

  Insufficient mana results in spell colpse, not backsh

  The enchantment settles almost instantly. Personal mana: 87 → 86

  Albedo tilts her head slightly. “Elegant. You separated framework from execution.”

  “I like my mistakes survivable,” you reply absently, still concentrating.

  Then you gnce at the tactical dispy showing network node statuses. Your stomach drops.

  87/185 (personal), RV system at 3971/4150, USS Portnd at 3969/4150, Prometheus Station at 7443/8500, Eureka Costco at 7018/8500, Eureka Regional Airport at 5155/6000, ATR-72 #001 at 4230/6000, Cargo Jet #001 at 6518/6000, MV Atntic Provider at 3405/4150, DDG Fitzgerald at 3253/4150, Frigate at 4122/4150.

  The network is about to hit mana capacity limits across multiple nodes simultaneously. the Cargo Jet producing 30000 an hour is too much.

  "Oh. shit." you note.

  Nova's eyes snap to you immediately. "Problem?"

  "Network's about to cap out. Just need to expand capacity or we start wasting generation, or worse."

  You don't hesitate. You reach through the network connections - Portnd first, then the departing tanker, then Fitzgerald, then Alvarez's frigate, Prometheus Station and Eureka Costco. Mana Capacity enchantment, 100% boost. twenty times expansion.

  The cost is immense, but distributed. Across the entire network, mana drains, smooth and controlled.

  But the capacity numbers transform. Portnd's maximum jumps from 4150 to 83000. The tanker likewise. Fitzgerald and the frigate follow. Prometheus Station and Eureka Costco both leap to 170000 maximum capacity.

  Golden light ripples outward from each ship, a quiet pulse traveling through every connected node.

  "Done," you say quietly. "Network won't overflow in the next hour."

  Webb turns slightly, having caught your exchange with Nova. "What just happened?"

  "Expanded mana storage on each ships by a factor of twenty," you reply evenly. "We were about to hit capacity limits. Now we won't."

  Reeves looks up from his console. "You can just... do that? Retroactively?"

  "Cost is the original max capacity, and non-stackable. So it's just adding one more enchantment to the list, not recreating it's foundation."

  Reeves studies you slowly. “You pnned it.”

  “Back when the scale was smaller,” you reply. “didn't have enough mana to use it till now.”

  Rika's voice cuts through before anyone can respond further. "Rawlins is transmitting again. Audio only, open channel."

  Rawlins's voice fills the command center, tight with barely-controlled frustration.

  "Captain Webb. I am formally requesting crification on your authority to deny protective custody protocols under emergency fleet regutions. This is not a jurisdictional matter. This is national security."

  Webb's expression doesn't shift. He keys the response channel with deliberate calm.

  "Captain Rawlins. My authority derives from operational command of this vessel and direct coordination with the individual in question. There is no custody transfer because there is no legal basis for one. Your request remains denied."

  Silence stretches for three full seconds.

  Then Rawlins again, voice harder. "Captain Webb, I will be logging this exchange for review by surviving command authority. Your cooperation - or ck thereof - will be noted."

  The channel cuts.

  Reeves exhales slowly. "He's building a paper trail."

  "Let him," Webb replies ftly. "There's no command authority left to review it."

  You gnce at the tactical dispy. Both destroyers holding position. Not advancing, not retreating.

  Waiting.

  The tactical dispy updates in real time. Two destroyer icons sit just beyond the harbor perimeter, vectors steady, speed reduced.

  They aren’t advancing.

  They aren’t disengaging.

  They’re loitering - engines hot, crews at readiness, captains waiting for something to give.

  You study the dispy for a long moment, then let out a slow breath through your nose.

  “...So,” you say at st, voice ft, almost bored. “How many rations do those ships have onboard?”

  Webb gnces at you, then back to the readouts. “Standard load. A few weeks, maybe a month if they stretch it.”

  You nod faintly, eyes still on the screen. “That was what, two weeks ago? while this is a spectacur waste of time, fuel, and human lives...”You pause, just long enough for the implication to settle. “...we can just wait.”

  Reeves exhales sharply, half a ugh without humor. “You’re really going to starve out two destroyers with infinite fuel sitting right there?”

  “I’m not doing anything,” you reply calmly. “They’re choosing to posture instead of helping humanity. That’s on them.”

  The destroyer icons remain motionless.

  Waiting.

  And for the first time, it’s very clear who actually controls the clock.

  On Rawlins’s bridge, the tension has shifted from urgency to something thinner, uncertainty.

  The tactical officer clears his throat. “Sir... fuel projections haven’t changed. If we hold station here, we’re burning escort margins.”

  Rawlins doesn’t answer immediately. His eyes stay on the plot, jaw tight. Two civilian-enchanted ships glow steady and inexhaustible on the dispy. His own does not.

  “Logistics Command will understand,” he says finally, but the words ck their earlier conviction.

  A junior officer near the comms station hesitates, then speaks anyway. “With respect, sir, if he’s not moving, and Webb’s not moving... we’re the only ones losing time.”

  Silence follows. Not insubordination. Just math.

  Below decks, the mood is already souring.

  A petty officer leans against a bulkhead, helmet off, sweat darkening his colr. “So we’re just... sitting?” he mutters to no one in particur. “Burning fuel to prove a point?”

  Another sailor snorts quietly. “Point to who? There’s no admiral left to impress.”

  No one ughs. No one corrects him.

  The ship hums, steady, finite.

  Robin’s voice enters the web without ceremony, soft but precise.

  “I have audio from Rawlins’s bridge. He’s stalling. Not threatening. Not escating.”(pause) “He’s waiting for you to blink. His crew knows it won’t work.”

  A flicker of something almost sympathetic passes through her tone.

  “They’re trained for confrontation. Not irrelevance.”

  The tactical dispy hasn’t changed.

  Two destroyers. Holding position.Fuel ticking down.Time moving on without them.

  No one in Webb’s command center speaks for several seconds.

  Because now it’s obvious:This isn’t a standoff.

  It’s a demonstration.

  And Rawlins is beginning to understand that every minute he waits is another minute his authority quietly dissolves, without a single hostile act, without a single order from you.

  You exhale through your nose, slow.

  “Since we’re still sitting here wasting time,” you say quietly, more to yourself than anyone else, “I guess I have time to design another enchantment. Overdue... just not what I’d rather be doing right now.”

  You pull your notebook free, flipping past older pages dense with crossed-out frameworks and half-abandoned ideas. This one’s been circling your thoughts for weeks, physical reinforcement or training.

  Strength. Constitution. Dexterity.

  You sketch the first pass quickly: incremental growth, not percentages. No runaway multiplication. No compounding enhancements. Just steady reinforcement, growth tied to how much there is rather than what you started with.

  You pause, tap the pen once, then add a quiet note in the margin.

  Recalcute on every increase...

  Not a timer spped onto the body. Not a fire-and-forget buff. Each gain forces the system to reassess itself, growth slowing naturally as the total rises. No ceiling hardcoded, but no shortcuts either. Progress that has to be lived with...

  Beside you, Rika’s voice comes softly, close enough that you hadn’t noticed her approach. “You’re designing something,” she says. Not a question.

  You gnce up briefly. “Mm. Something I should’ve done earlier.”

  She studies the open notebook, not trying to read every line, just absorbing the structure, the density of thought. Her eyes flick once to the tactical dispy. The unmoving destroyers. The waiting.

  Then back to the page.

  “...You’re doing this because we have time,” she says carefully.

  “They’re compelling us to sit here,” you reply. “This is just making use of time.”

  Rika straightens slightly, expression sharpening, not armed, not impressed. Calcuting. “If you can design new foundational enchantments during a standoff,” she says, “then dragging things out doesn’t pressure you. It benefits you.”

  “Unwanted, but not inconvenient. The benefit of having time.”

  Across the room, Webb gnces over. He doesn’t ask what you’re working on. He doesn’t need the details. He just takes in the posture: the notebook, the pen, the ck of urgency.

  The realization settles in behind his eyes.

  They aren’t containing you.They aren’t deying you.They’re giving you uninterrupted design time.

  Webb exhales slowly through his nose and turns back to the dispy, gaze hardening, not at the destroyers themselves, but at the sheer stupidity of the strategy.

  You lower your eyes to the page again and continue writing, already refining the recalcution logic.

  If this is how they want to spend the day, you might as well make sure you’re better than you were when it ends.

  SnafuSam