In her first few days aboard, Piper had been taught the different meanings behind the various alarms that might be sounded, and for what events they would be in relation to. A single, long alarm, much like the bell to a schoolhouse, rang throughout the vessel every twelve hours to signal the change of shift. It had become such a part of Piper's daily routine that it no longer startled her as much as it once had, and had for the most part faded into the background noise along with the rest of the general clamor of the Lockjawe. During the second alarm, which blared in two, medium-length bursts, the crew would be informed that a potentially dangerous situation was unfolding. If there were no further message accompanying the alarm, they were to automatically report to their battle stations.
Lastly, the third alarm came in three short and high pitched screeches, repeated at short intervals, that would signal that the ship was under attack. It was the second alarm that sounded now, momentarily hushing Piper and Emeline into silence. This effect only lasted a moment, for as Piper processed what the alarm entailed, she shot to her feet in order to report belowdecks as quickly as possible. Her attempt was cut short, however, as the voice of the First Mate warbled throughout the wheelhouse from the speakers.
"All crew to report to the mess at once for an important message from your Captain. I repeat, all crew are to report to the mess at once."
At the end of the equally brief and vague announcement, the alarm resumed. Piper and Emeline shared a look of combined worry and confusion, before Emeline rose to her feet as well.
"Shall we?"
Piper nodded.
Though not yet a hoard, the muddled crowd forming in front of the mess was growing thick as a throng of sailors made their way above decks. Piper and Emeline maneuvered their way through the threshold of the doorway, managing to avoid being shouldered in the process. Micah caught Piper's eye with a nod from their usual spot; Piper tugged on Emeline's sleeve, and they broke away from the herd.
"Any idea what this's about?" Micah queried Emeline. It seemed as if he'd applied a few more generous dashings of tar to his uniform since Piper had last seen him. His wide eyes and streaked face gave him the appearance of a child caught in some nefarious act.
Emeline nodded almost imperceptively, but didn't elaborate. Within moments every chair within the dining space had a body to fill it, and the standing room remaining began to be taken up by every sailor not essential to the immediate functioning of the ship. Horace came into view as he shoved his way in between a particularly cramped section of the room. Collapsing gratefully into the chair Micah had saved for him, the trainee boatswain rubbed the sleep out of his eyes with a balled up fist. He was still in his noctclothes, evidence of his more recent transition into noctshift duties.
He was likely about to ask some questions of his own, when the attempt was cut off by the crackling of static across the room's speakers. As the group turned towards the raised platform, they watched as Captain Tartan raised his mountainous form onto the small stage with two massive steps, each footfall from his boots sounding like a gavel that just as effectively hushed the room into silence. From left to right the Captain silently surveyed the mess, as if to mark the personal attendance of each sailor, before deliberately adjusting the microphone in front of his mouth.
"I thank you" Captain Tartan began, chewing on the words as if unfamiliar to his tongue, "for your attention and haste in this matter, and hope to be brief so as to see you back to your duties."
Clearing his throat, the Captain raised a neatly trifolded stack of parchment. Flipping through the first two pages with little hesitation, he paused on the third, and, finding his place, began to read.
"At around 0800 hours this morning, the 2nd Ventrendi of Yanāyaka, we received a radar signal thirty miles to the northeast of our location, just south of the borderwaters to the Fourlands Sea. All attempts to contact the vessel via phonowave have failed, and it has remained in a fixed position on radar throughout our approach. Nothing about the situation had changed until twenty minutes ago, when we received a transmission back."
There was a general murmuring in the crowd, which Captain Tartan allowed only for the time it took him to draw another breath, before he carried on.
"Though no message has been discernable, the transmission has been a consistent drone of static, and we have reason to believe that the transmitter was left on with intent. We are continuing a steady approach. Keep an ear out for instructions, once the vessel can be identified, a boarding team will be prepared should further attempts at contact fail."
Captain Tartan gave some gruff concluding marks before dismissing the sailors back to their duties, who began to trickle out as quickly as they'd come in, save for a handful of superior officers who crowded around the Captain like hungry dogs, barking for any more scraps of information he might have on the matter. Each throng leaving the mess was buzzing with conversation focused on the conjecture of what they might find once they reached the location of the mysterious signal. Piper's group was not any different in this regard.
"What's all that mean then?" Micah asked nobody in particular, his complexion alight with alarm.
"Means we found what we're looking for I figure," Horace replied with a tired shrug, "Transmitter's still running so she's gotta be floating at least, though if the position hasn't moved … well, they're going nowhere fast. Come to think of it, what'd you hear in there, Em?"
Horace turned towards the trainee sailing master with curiosity, Micah quickly following suit.
Emeline drew in a shaky breath before navigating her careful reply, "Officer Ferretti discovered the signal this morning, as the Captain said. There are very few Mid-Island ships with access to phonowave technology, and even fewer from Padasiras. Odds are pretty high it's one of ours."
"What did you hear?" Micah asked incredulously.
Emeline rubbed at her elbow, "I heard … well it was as the Captain said. There was nothing aside from intermittent static - sometimes louder, sometimes quiet. It was the strangest thing though, I was on the receiver when the transmission started up and it almost sounded like …'
Emeline shook her head violently, sending red curls bouncing in surprise.
"Sounded like what?" Horace and Micah asked almost in unison.
"Nothing, it … it just frightened me at first. Officer Ferretti said it was an aggressive feed and likely damaged, and then Piper paid me a visit," Emeline turned towards Piper, managing a weak smile.
"Huh? Oh .. yes, I did." Piper muttered. She had been hardly been following the conversation, her mind still occupied on how to catch her quarry. It must have shown upon her face, for her three companions shared a look before Horace spoke up.
"Any luck on that front? I was planning on checking those traps before heading back to the rack but-"
"No," Piper interrupted, careful to keep the strain out of her voice, "I was just checking the wheelhouse when we received the announcement."
An awkward silence ensued as Horace nodded slowly. Micah coughed, and Emeline looked away.
"Look Pipes," Horace began after seemingly sorting out his words, "you know that we-"
Piper stood up suddenly, pushing herself to her feet from the table. It was harder than she had anticipated, and nearly sent her chair clattering to the deck.
"I should get back to it."
She took a deep breath and turned around before a protest could be made. Her face felt hot as she strode out of the mess, and her throat felt dry. Piper kept her eyes to the deck as she forced herself to think of the logistics of her task at hand.
Perhaps the placement of the traps is off?
No, she shook her head. In whatever spare time she'd had between her duties and routine checks, Piper had been scrawling the most likely places the automata would go in Azariah's notebook. She'd etched a small dot into the diagrams at locations most suitable based on the data that she'd gleaned of the creature from the old sailor's taxonomical tome. She racked her brain as she continued forth, trying to recall any hint the book might have lent her as to where the unnatural creature might be lurking, when something sparked in her memory. Piper was recalling a passage that stated what a rogue springtail would do when its habitat had been compromised, when she came face-first into someone's back.
She clutched at her smarted nose, simmering down a hot reply when she noticed that the broad-shouldered sailor had not noticed her, and was in fact much preoccupied - along with several others - with another matter. A row of men and women had gathered along the starboard gunwale, eagerly looking out to see. Readying herself to get back to her duties, the mixed murmurings of excitement aroused her curiosity. Before Piper realized it, she had squeezed through an opening in the crowd and found herself pressed against the railing. It took a little while of squinting out to sea, following the gaze of the aroused crew, to see at last what had captivated their attention.
There, just a silhouette on the horizon ahead of them, was a black smudge of ink on a canvas composed otherwise of blues and whites.
A ship.
"That's where we're headed."
Piper started at the soft voice that materialized beside her. Though she recognized the source before she'd even fully turned to glance at its owner.
"When did you get here, Winnie?"
Winnifred shrugged dreamily, never taking her eyes off the distant vessel, "I've been here the whole time."
"Seems the rescue wasn't in vain then. That must be the Leviathan we've been searching for."
"It isn't though."
Piper knit her brows together in confusion, "What do you mean?"
"The Leviathan is gone."
There was something in the matter-of-fact certainty in which the statement was delivered that sent a chill down Piper's spine.
"How do you know that?" She asked.
Winnifred merely shook her head. So intent was her focus upon the dark splotch on the waves that the movement would have been imperceptible, had Piper not been watching her.
"Call it a feeling."
And Piper realized that she believed Winnifred, despite having no logical reason to. There was little more to be said, so the pair returned to silent observance. Together, they watched as the dark and looming ship grew ever larger at their approach.