They left the Star Trek bar at Ticonderoga trailing laughter and the last echoes of a drunken Klingon opera chorus, stumbling through the humid night with armloads of souvenir mugs and questionable pie.
Boarding the Dauntless felt like coming home—albeit to a home that looked like it might at any moment leap out of the water or start giving orders in a British accent.
It was too dark and too late, so they chose to sleep aboard, bobbing gently in the bay. The Dauntless wasn't exactly built for luxury, but Spyder had rigged her with accommodations only an engineer with more enthusiasm than budget could devise: fold-out cots on either side of the hull, built into the triangular cubbyholes—one to port, one to starboard.
With a flourish, Spyder demonstrated how they swung down and locked with a loud "clack."
Spyder: "Maximizes living space, minimum hassle; see, we're always ready for warp speed or a nap."
Vanessa eyed the space warily. "Coffins, more like. You're not putting me in that thing and closing the lid. If I get stuck, I'll haunt you both for the rest of your unnatural lives."
Wayne, already sprawling on one cot, snorted: "Better a coffin than a barstool with a Klingon snoring in your lap."
Spyder held up a mock scout salute: "Promise—no one gets sealed inside. Athena, you're in charge of emergency extraction."
Athena, sounding extra chipper: "Emergency escape protocol armed, Miss Vanessa. I will not activate hatch locks unless desired, or unnecessarily dramatic."
Vanessa rolled her eyes, fluffed the thin pillow, and set her boots by the door. "If it creaks open on its own at midnight, I'm blaming you, Captain."
Spyder settled in, mug within arm's reach, content that the boat was finally, quietly, his home afloat.
Wayne mumbled that all he needed now was a sleep-mode pie dispenser and they'd be unstoppable.
Outside, the lake lapped at the hull, Athena softly humming a lullaby coded in Morse, and not a soul missed solid ground.
At 3 AM, Athena's hydrophones pulsed a barely audible frequency. Fred's quick-release mechanism clicked softly, and the little drone slipped into the water, tethered only by Athena's sonar guidance. By dawn, he'd returned with data that would make the morning's "big anomaly" detection seem like perfect timing.
Many fear the void. Vanessa only feared the void with a lock on it. One man's engineering marvel is another woman's haunted wardrobe, and the Dauntless, as ever, cheerfully splits the difference.
Woke up to light on the water and a boat full of snoring, pie-logged crew. Vanessa kept her "coffin" open all night; Wayne's was closed, and he claims it's how real mechanics hibernate. Lake Champlain at sunrise looked ordinary—maybe too ordinary. Athena picked up a monster sonar blip big enough to make me wish I'd loaded more coffee, and whatever it was shot under the boat before we could blink. Tried to deploy Fred, but we were outmaneuvered—in less time than it takes a sailor to spill a mug. Wayne's upgrading the quick-release as we speak. Next time, we'll be ready for whatever's lurking.
Cots are surprisingly comfortable. Engineering principle: if you can't sleep in it, you built it wrong. Note: Bar pie might be responsible for strange dreams (Klingons armwrestling tribbles). Stowed tools under the bunk, just in case. Would kill for noise-cancelling headphones—coffee: not strong enough. Ftrf's quick release was too slow—built a new lever from spare parts before breakfast. Spyder's turned the spot on the GPS orange (for "weird"). If we get another shot at tracking it, I'll trip the deploy and let Fred explore on his own. Fred's battery readings inconsistent. Showed 85% this morning, should've been 100% after overnight charging. Running diagnostics.
Spyder's "coffins" holding up fine, but I'm not closing the lid. Wrote out an escape plan on my arm in case Athena goes HAL 9000 after midnight. Pie-related regrets: moderate. Trust in AI: low. The air felt heavy this morning, like waiting for the punchline. Athena pinged "big anomaly," and whatever it was, it moved like it knew we weren't ready. Didn't see it, but I felt it. Not fear, exactly—something else. Making more coffee, just in case.
All crew accounted for. Emergency hatch release mapped to Vanessa's pillow (for peace of mind). Captain's heart rate: normal for post-bar, post-pie, pre-adventure levels. Next scheduled alarm: sunrise, or first unexplained hull vibration. Crew: roused (with mild grumbling). Sonar: anomaly detected, exited range in 11.2 seconds. Fred: quick-release mechanism now "Wayne-certified." Recommendation: caffeine, vigilance, and regular system checks. Note for crew: Sometimes the biggest things leave the fewest answers.
Some ships have hammocks, some have cabins. The Dauntless has coffins, pie, and just enough sleep paranoia to hold the crew together.
The Dauntless had met her first morning on the big water, and the world had just grown much, much wider.