The next hour was a blur.
Scientists argued. Officers shouted. Corpsmen carried away the injured, including Miller, who had to be moved with the bulkhead still attached—they cut a section of steel around his hand and carried him, wall fragment and all, to the waiting ambulances.
Sal stood in the corner, watching, thinking.
The hum was still there. Louder now, more insistent. And underneath it, that voice—the one he'd almost heard the night before. It was clearer now, though still not clear enough to understand. It was like listening to a conversation in another room, through a wall. You knew someone was talking. You just couldn't make out the words.
Franklin found him after a while. The scientist looked even worse than before—if that was possible. His hands shook slightly as he lit a cigarette.
"You're still here."
"Nowhere else to go." Sal nodded toward the chaos. "What happens now?"
Franklin took a long drag. "Now we try to figure out what went wrong. And how to fix it. And how to make sure it never happens again." He paused. "And we try to keep it quiet. The Navy doesn't want the world knowing about this."
"The world's gonna notice when sailors start growing into walls."
"The ones who... merged... they're being taken to a special facility. Away from here. Away from anyone who might ask questions. By morning, this ship will be empty. The crew will be scattered to other assignments. The Eldridge will sail to Norfolk with a skeleton crew and a new mission. And none of this will have happened."
Sal looked at him. "But it did happen."
Franklin met his eyes. "Yes. It did. And you're going to help us understand it."
"Me? I'm a plumber."
"You're a plumber who noticed things. Who feels things. Who stood on this ship last night and told us it was humming." Franklin crushed out his cigarette. "The men who understand the theory are arguing in circles. They don't know what to do. But you—you understand systems. You understand flow. You understand pressure. And right now, this ship is full of pressure we don't understand."
Sal thought about the swirling water. The warm bulkhead. The voice in the hum.
"What do you want me to do?"
"Walk the ship again. But this time, take notes. Talk to me about everything you feel, everything you notice, everything that seems wrong. And then..." Franklin hesitated. "And then we need to figure out how to reverse it."
"Reverse it?"
"The men who are... fused. Miller and the others. They're not just injured. They're connected. To the ship. To the steel. To whatever happened during those seventeen minutes. If we can understand the connection, maybe we can break it. Maybe we can bring them back."
Sal looked around the engine room—at the massive generators, the tangle of pipes, the place where a young man had become one with the steel.
"I'll try," he said.
The ship was different now.
Sal walked its passageways alone, listening, feeling, observing. The chaos had moved elsewhere—to the pier, to the ambulances, to the offices where officers argued about what to do next. The Eldridge herself was quiet, almost empty. Most of the crew had been taken away. Only a few remained, mostly scientists and senior officers, huddled in conference rooms, trying to make sense of the impossible.
The hum guided Sal. It was strongest in some places, weaker in others. He followed it like a current, letting it lead him where it would.
It led him to the bridge.
The space was empty, dark except for the glow of instruments. The helmsman's wheel stood in its usual place, brass and wood, polished and perfect.
Sal approached it slowly. Laid his hand on the spokes.
The hum surged. The voice—that almost-voice—grew clearer. For a moment, just a moment, Sal thought he heard words.
...help us...
He jerked his hand back. The voice faded.
He stood there, heart pounding, staring at the wheel. Then, slowly, he reached out again.
This time he didn't just touch it. He gripped it. Held on. Closed his eyes and listened.
The hum filled him. The voice filled him. And underneath it, something else—images, feelings, sensations that weren't his. The cold of space. The heat of... somewhere else. The terror of being lost. The desperate hope of being found.
And then, clear as day, a word:
...Lombardi...
Sal's eyes flew open. He stumbled back, nearly falling, catching himself on the chart table.
Someone had said his name. Someone—something—had spoken to him through the wheel.
He stood there for a long moment, breathing hard, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Then he turned and ran.
ns216.73.216.253da2
and then Add to home screen.