The fleet had nowhere to go.
North, west, and south was open ocean. East was what remained of San Francisco—still submerged, still impassable. The tsunami from the earthquake hadn't fully subsided, and the meteorite impacts along the California coast had kicked up fresh swells that made the sea even more hostile than before. Without the chains holding the fleet together, the smaller vessels would already have capsized. Without professional helmsmen, no one was going anywhere.
"You!" The Intel executive pointed at Bella. "You can handle a boat, right? Get me to Seattle. I'll pay you half a million dollars."
His eye for talent, at least, remained intact. Of everyone aboard—Reed Richards included—Bella was the only person who could navigate open water solo in conditions like these. Raw intelligence meant nothing against sea experience.
Bella didn't respond. Her eyes were closed. She might have been asleep.
No one else moved. Every person in that room had done the same private calculation and arrived at the same answer: the risks of leaving the fleet outweighed everything else. One capsized boat, alone on the open Pacific—that was a death sentence, money or no money.
As for the aliens themselves: terrifying, yes. But they hadn't come to San Francisco. Out here on the water, the fleet was, for now, safer than the shore.
So they waited, clustered in the bridge, monitoring radio feeds.
"California has officially entered a state of emergency alert. This is not a drill. Repeat—this is not a drill."
"Camp Pendleton has mobilized five thousand five hundred troops. The Governor of California has formally requested federal assistance—personnel, supplies, medical teams, all of it."
"A Pentagon source, speaking anonymously, stated that the enemy appears to lack fixed-wing air support. We are expected to maintain air superiority."
The broadcasts kept rolling, patched through from stations along the coast.
Hobbs Sawyer let the last item sit for a moment. "No air support?"
Bella answered without opening her eyes. "A species capable of interstellar travel has no air capability? You don't need advanced aeronautical theory to build a flying vehicle. Basic physics is enough."
Hobbs nodded slowly. That tracked.
The radio continued.
"Seventeen nations, twenty cities are currently under attack. This is a catastrophe for humanity. This is a calculated act of aggression."
"The enemy is extracting seawater from our oceans. That is their objective. Soldiers—I am James Sawyer. I stand with you. I will bleed for this country until there is nothing left."
"...to the last drop. God bless America."
"This is Santa Monica Air Force Forward Operating Base calling E2N flotilla. E2N flotilla, please respond. Repeat—calling E2N flotilla, please respond."
Bella's eyes snapped open. She pointed at the radio without a word.
Reed Richards lunged for the receiver.
"This is E2N flotilla. Coordinates 665-419. We need immediate assistance—immediate assistance!"
"Copy. Support units will reach you in ten minutes."
Thirty minutes passed.
When the rescue finally arrived—descending from a military helicopter onto the deck—it was Charlie and Bella and sixty thousand survivors standing on the decks of twenty-five ships who watched twelve soldiers rappel down to meet them.
Twelve.
The survivors stared.
Second Lieutenant Sam Wilson, First Airborne Division, mission commander for the rescue operation, stared right back. He'd been briefed on a "flotilla of survivors." He had not been briefed on this.
As far as the eye could see: ships. Chained together, deck to deck, every surface covered with people. A rough count—and it was rough—suggested tens of thousands.
Twelve soldiers. Tens of thousands of people. The math was not math.
"The Pentagon is full of idiots," Sam muttered, his composure slipping for exactly one second. He'd been deployed with zero situational awareness and a helicopter that fit his squad. This wasn't a rescue mission. This was a joke.
Before he could process it further, several legislators made a sprint for the helicopter. Sam didn't waste time on words. He reversed his rifle and used the stock to drive them back down the ramp, one by one.
"Back. All of you, back." He swept the weapon in a slow arc. The crowd, which had been edging forward, stilled. Once he had their attention, Sam got on comms with his command center.
The command centers were in chaos. The alien incursion along the California coast had every available resource scrambling—units deploying, supply chains rerouting, communications constantly interrupted. These sixty thousand civilians mattered, objectively. But against a coordinated multi-point alien offensive hitting seventeen countries simultaneously, "civilians afloat off San Francisco Bay" wasn't the top line item.
Sam explained the situation once. The operator he'd reached got reassigned mid-conversation. He explained it again to whoever picked up next, who hadn't been briefed. He explained it a third time. Then a fourth.
Eventually the answer came back: handle it yourself.
A second lieutenant, with twelve men, given informal command authority over a rescue operation for sixty thousand people. No additional resources confirmed. If you can do it, do it. If you can't, don't bother coming back.
Sam forced himself to breathe. He was the future Captain America. His psychological baseline was unusually solid. He could work with this.
Bella stepped forward at that moment. She and Sam weren't close, but they knew each other well enough that her presence counted for something. She made brief introductions—giving him a working picture of who the key people aboard were—and then stepped back.
"That's everything," she told him. "I'll leave the coordination to you."
She moved to the rail and leaned against it, tilting her head up at the sky.
"You really do know everyone," Natasha said, coming to stand beside her. The comment had a particular quality to it.
Bella caught it immediately. She smiled with practiced innocence. "Barely. Just casual acquaintances—"
"Why don't I have that many friends?" Natasha asked. Then, after a perfectly timed pause: "Your friend is... quite tall. Do you feel self-conscious when you're with her?"
"What are you talking about?"
Bella glanced around, confirmed no one was watching, and leaned in. "My heart belongs entirely to you."
"That girl Barbara seems a little hostile toward me. I think she's figured out what we are to each other."
Bella blinked. "Really? I thought we were being subtle."
"You thought wrong."
"Don't worry about it. She won't say anything. She has her own boyfriend to think about—you saw him, right? Sam Winchester. His whole family are professional demon hunters."
She steered the conversation as far away from the original topic as possible and kept it there, mixing in enough sweetness to neutralize Natasha's mood.
"Sakura's arrived. Cover me—I need to go under and meet her." Bella glanced toward the water. "We'll regroup at Bumblebee's after."