The sharp, acidic wail of the base's intrusion alarm was a physical presence in the corridors of G-88, a sound that seemed to vibrate the very volcanic rock from which the fortress was carved. The air, already thick with the sulfurous breath of geothermal vents, grew heavier with tension. Vice Admiral Venus Harlow marched through the chaos, her polished boots striking the polished obsidian floor with a rhythm that was more a promise of violence than a walk. The pristine white of her Justice coat was a stark banner of authority against the muted, reinforced concrete of the bunker-tropical walls.
From a intersecting corridor, her two captains scrambled to fall into step with her, their arrival as synchronized as their personalities were opposed.
"Report!" Harlow's command cut through the klaxon's scream, her voice a whip-crack of impatience. She didn't break stride.
Captain Nuri Evander, his flame-red hair a chaotic mess and his uniform collar already askew, spoke first, his words tumbling out. "A foreign vessel, Vice Admiral! Unidentified class, non-standard design. It's been impounded in the Caldera Harbor." He fidgeted with the steel bat he always carried, its engraved "MVP" glinting in the harsh light.
Harlow's sharp eyes, the color of chilled steel, didn't waver from the path ahead. "A foreign vessel? How did it penetrate our perimeter? The Sea-Gate was raised, the sonic buoys were active—"
"It didn't penetrate, ma'am!" Captain Kai Sullivan interjected, adjusting his glasses with a nervous push of his middle finger. His own uniform was, as always, immaculate. "It just... appeared. Our sensor logs show a massive energy spike and then... there it was. Fifty feet above sea level before it hit the water." A faint, anxious hum of a classical melody escaped his lips before he could stifle it.
Harlow stopped dead. The two captains nearly collided with each other trying to halt in time. She turned slowly, the motion predatory. The prominent scar on her left cheek seemed to deepen. "Just appeared?" she repeated, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "Things do not just appear in the most fortified harbor in the Grand Line! This is a catastrophic breach! You know what this means?"
Kai gave a tight, miserable nod. "Yes, ma'am. A total security reassessment. Protocol Sigma."
"Were there any occupants?" Harlow demanded, resuming her furious march, forcing them to scramble after her.
Nuri answered, his voice gaining a nervous pitch. "Yes, five. They've been detained and are in the holding cells. But, ma'am... one of them... one of them has a bounty."
Harlow's jaw tightened. She could feel the phantom ache in her prosthetic leg, a permanent reminder of past failures. "Spit it out, Captain."
Nuri swallowed hard. "It's... Captain Kuro. Of the Black Cat Pirates."
This time, Harlow did stop, her head snapping towards Nuri with such force a strand of her styled blond hair came loose. "Kuro? How is that possible? He's dead! His entire crew was disbanded years ago!"
Nuri could only offer a helpless shrug, gripping his bat like a lifeline. "The database positively identified him, ma'am. The facial recognition is a ninety-eight percent match."
A cold fury settled over Harlow's features. "Bring him to my office. I want to have a little chat with this ghost of a captain." She started walking again, her stride even more aggressive, the mechanical whir of her prosthetic leg a soft counterpoint to her heavy footsteps. "Has that preening idiot, Commander Alistair Finch, been contacted yet?"
Kai, trying to keep up while simultaneously checking his pocket watch, nodded. "He is en route, ma'am, but—"
"Tell him I want a full diagnostic and intelligence report on that vessel ASAP! No delays, no excuses, no lengthy memos on the tailoring of his uniform! This takes absolute precedence!" she roared, the sound echoing in the confined space.
They reached a heavy reinforced door marked with her rank and name. Harlow spun on her heels, her coat flaring around her. The two captains stood at rigid attention under her glare. "This is unacceptable! G-88, 'The Iron Pearl,' has been unlawfully infiltrated by a pirate crew led by a dead man! I want answers, not anomalies! I want this leak plugged! Increase the harbor defenses to Condition Crimson. Tell all personnel to expect double watches and a drilling schedule that will make them wish they'd joined the Revolution! FIX THIS! BOTH OF YOU! NO EXCUSES!"
With a final, scathing look that made both men feel like worthless recruits, she spun around, yanked the door open, and slammed it shut with a force that made the entire frame shudder. The boom echoed down the hall, a period at the end of her sentence of fury.
For a long moment, the only sounds were the relentless alarm and the distant, mocking call of a Mimic-Macaw perfectly replicating the sound of a cannon firing. Nuri let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.
"Well," he mumbled, tapping his bat against his leg. "She took that... uh... about as well as could be expected."
Kai adjusted his glasses again, his face pale. "Condition Crimson," he muttered, the words tasting like ash. "She's not just angry. She's frightened. And when Vice Admiral Harlow is frightened, the whole volcano trembles." He began to hum a frantic, staccato tune, the notes a stark contrast to the grim determination settling on his face. They had their orders. And failure was not an option she would tolerate twice.
*****
The humid air of the jungle night clung to them like a second skin, thick with the scent of damp earth and the cloying sweetness of the unsealed Vintana Spiced Rum. Crouched in a semi-circle of concealment behind thick ferns, gnarled roots, and the broad, sheltering leaves of unidentified plants, the crew watched the clearing with bated breath. The two remaining crates sat in the center, a lone bottle beside them, its cork removed to let the potent aroma seep into the shadows, a siren's call of alcohol.
For long minutes, there was nothing but the usual chorus of nocturnal insects and the drip of water. Then, a new sound joined the symphony: a soft, skittering rustle from the canopy high above. One by one, hundreds of pinpricks of light ignited in the darkness between the leaves, like a constellation of malevolent stars waking up. The eyes glowed with a soft, mischievous luminescence, tracking every movement below.
They descended without a sound, swinging on vines and crawling along branches with a disjointed, spider-like agility that defied normal anatomy. The Kalanoro were exactly as described, yet seeing them was another thing entirely. They stood about a meter tall, their small bodies covered in a thick, russet-brown fur. Their hands ended in long, clever-looking fingernails, perfect for gripping bark and, apparently, for pilfering crates. But it was their feet that captivated and explained everything. They were reversed, the heels pointing forward, the toes backward, leaving those baffling, untraceable prints in the soft earth.
One of the creatures, bolder than the rest, dropped to the ground with a soft thud. It didn't walk so much as it scuttled, its backward feet giving its movement an unnerving, unpredictable quality. It crept towards the crates, its head cocked, sniffing the air with obvious relish.
From behind a thick bush, Galit tensed, his long neck stiffening. "I have a clear line of—"
"Hold," Marya's whisper cut through the tension, calm and authoritative. She was partially concealed behind a massive baobab root, her golden eyes fixed on the scene. "We don't want to spring the trap too soon. Let it get closer. Let it get confident."
Jannali, peering through a gap in the ferns, let out a low, impressed whistle. "Well, I'll be a monkey's uncle. Look at that thing. And its feet! No wonder we've been going in circles all arvo. They're born to leave a trail that leads nowhere."
"I think it's kind of cute," Eliane whispered from her hiding spot, a genuine smile on her face. "In a… feral, possibly thieving sort of way."
A few feet away, Jelly was completely distracted from the high-stakes operation. He was perched on a random, moss-covered rock, his entire focus on a fat fly buzzing lazily in front of his face. His head morphed into various shapes—a net, a cup, a pair of clapping hands—each attempt missing the insect by millimeters.
The lead Kalanoro reached the crate, tapping on the wood with a long nail. It let out a series of rapid, chittering clicks. In response, more of the small creatures emerged from the shadows, a whole troupe of them. Some were dragging the stolen crate from its hiding place. Others were holding up other items: one had Jannali's missing carved hairpin, another was waving around one of Atlas's discarded dagger sheaths, and a third was mockingly trying to walk in Galit's stiff, proud posture, eliciting silent giggles from its companions. They communicated in a cacophony of grunts, clicks, and perfect mimicry of the sounds they'd heard—including a spot-on impression of Jannali cursing and Galit asking for a status update.
Marya smirked, not taking her eyes off the gathering crowd of furry thieves. She glanced towards Atlas, who was crouched low, one hand pressed flat against the damp soil. "You ready?"
Atlas gave a sharp, confident nod, a spark of blue electricity crackling for a split second around his fingertips. "Just say the word, boss."
Vesta, peeking from behind a tree with wide, fascinated eyes, whispered, "What do you think they're saying? It sounds like a story!"
"Who cares what they're nattering on about," Jannali hissed back. "We just need that resin so we can get the hell out of this green nightmare."
The clearing was now filled with Kalanoro, all chattering excitedly as they surrounded the rum, their glowing eyes fixed on the prize. As the first one hefted a bottle, the signal that they were about to vanish back into the canopy with their loot, Marya's whisper was as sharp as a blade.
"Atlas. Now."
A feral grin split Atlas's face. He slammed his palm hard into the ground. A web of brilliant, blue-white lightning erupted from his hand, coursing through the wet soil with a terrifying CRACK-ZZZT! The electricity jumped, dancing over the crates and lashing into the gathered Kalanoro. There was a unified, startled squeak from dozens of tiny throats before the entire group shuddered and collapsed into a twitching, unconscious heap, their fur smoking faintly.
For a heartbeat, there was silence, broken only by the receding crackle of Electro and Jelly finally managing to slorp up the fly.
Then, the crew erupted from their hiding places, rushing into the clearing with a collective surge of victory. The rest of the Kalanoro in the trees let out alarmed shrieks and scattered, their glowing eyes blinking out one by one as they retreated into the impenetrable darkness.
Towering over the pile of stunned, furry bodies, Galit put his hands on his hips. "Well. We've captured them. Now what?"
Marya looked down at the incapacitated creatures, a slow, calculating smirk spreading across her face. "Now," she said, her tone suggesting she found the entire situation immensely entertaining, "we tie them up and have a conversation."
Vesta cocked her head, strumming a confused chord on Mikasi. "How are we going to do that? It didn't look like they talked. I mean, not in a language you'd find in a book."
Marya's smirk widened. "We'll just have to find a dialect we both understand."
The clearing had taken on the atmosphere of a very strange, very damp town meeting. The unconscious Kalanoro had been unceremoniously gathered and tied together with sturdy vines, their furry forms slumped in a disgruntled heap. The crew formed a loose circle around them, the flickering campfire casting long, dancing shadows that made the scene even more surreal.
Marya sat perched on one of the rum crates, her boots planted firmly on the moss, her posture relaxed but radiating an unnerving calm. Galit stood with his arms crossed, his long neck making him a towering sentinel. Atlas lounged on a nearby rock, looking immensely pleased with himself, while Jannali kept a wary eye on the surrounding jungle. Eliane had produced a small bag of sliced fruit and was munching thoughtfully, and Vesta provided a soft, wandering soundtrack on her lute. Jelly simply wobbled in place, fascinated by the tied-up creatures.
One of the Kalanoro, a slightly larger one with a tuft of white hair between its ears, stirred with a groan. Its glowing eyes fluttered open, blinking in the firelight. When its gaze focused on Marya sitting casually on their prized rum, it let out a sharp, indignant squeak. It began to struggle violently, the vines creaking, and unleashed a torrent of chitters, clicks, and grunts that needed no translation. It was cursing her, her lineage, and probably the very concept of maritime travel.
Vesta, sensing a shift in the drama, strummed a dramatic minor chord.
🎵
"The captive awakes, with fury and spite,
Its furry little face a truly fearsome sight!
It curses the captain, it curses the crew...
I wonder if it curses the sky so blue?"
🎵
"It looks proper upset, doesn't it?" Jannali commented, not without a hint of admiration for its spirit.
The other Kalanoro began to rouse, their initial confusion quickly turning to nervous chattering. They huddled together, their glowing eyes wide with alarm, looking like a pile of startled, furry pincushions.
Atlas's grin was a flash of white in the dim light. "Looks like we have their attention."
Marya, her legs crossed and her chin resting on a propped-up fist, didn't move. She simply watched the lead Kalanoro's tantrum with detached interest. Then, she slowly, deliberately, tapped the crate she was sitting on with the heel of her boot. Tap. Tap. Tap. The sound cut through the creature's tirade.
She locked her golden eyes with the loudest Kalanoro. "We don't want you," she stated, her voice level and clear. "We want resin. Amber-Iron Resin. And we will trade." She gestured to the two full crates. "This, for that."
The Kalanoro fell silent, its chest heaving. It replied not with words, but with a full-body expression of outrage—a sharp, dismissive series of clicks, a crossed-arm gesture (despite being tied up), and a huff so forceful it ruffled its own facial fur. It was a masterpiece of non-verbal refusal.
Galit pinched the bridge of his nose. "Do you even think it understands the concept of a trade agreement?"
"It understands," Marya said, her gaze never leaving the creature. "It understands perfectly." She leaned forward slightly. "We will let you go when you tell your friends to bring us the resin."
The Kalanoro glared, its glowing eyes narrowed to slits. For a long moment, it held her stare, a tiny, bound rebel facing down a calm conqueror. Then, with a final, contemptuous snort, it turned its head away, pointedly fixing its gaze on a specific, high limb in a distant baobab tree, its nose held comically in the air.
Eliane couldn't help a soft giggle. "Oh, wow. It looks pretty mad. I think you hurt its feelings."
But Marya wasn't looking at the Kalanoro's face anymore. She was following its line of sight. High up on the limb it had so deliberately focused on, the leaves rustled. Not with the wind—there was no wind. Then, a pair of eyes, older and wiser than the others, gleamed from the darkness. A much older Kalanoro, its fur grizzled and grey, was watching the proceedings with a quiet, assessing intensity.
A slow, genuine smile spread across Marya's face, the kind that usually only appeared when she encountered a particularly fluffy animal. This, however, was the smile of a gambler holding a winning hand.
"I think," she said, her voice dropping to a confident murmur, "we are about to win this little game."
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