The portal spat the Dauntless out into fog-wrapped water—different air, sharper chill, rolling green hills in the half-light and not a trace of Vermont left behind. No horns blared, no seasick rumble—just instant, uncanny quiet.
Wayne, eyes wide, knuckles white on the rails: “Okay, somebody tell me I’m dreaming. Please.”
Vanessa, blinking at the cold, the castle silhouette, the sheep on the slope: “Look at the stars. Look at the sky. That’s not America.”
Spyder, checking Athena’s readings: “Athena, give me a coordinate.”
Athena: “Stellar configuration and geomagnetic markers confirm: Loch Ness, Scotland. Estimated margin of error, 1%. Welcome aboard, Dauntless crew. Local weather: eccentric. Local legend: present.”
Wayne: “We just crossed an ocean in the wrong genre of boat. Also, I left my passport at home.”
Vanessa, shivering, artifact glowing faintly in her hands: “What do we do now?”
Spyder: “For once, I have no idea. Let’s start by not talking to any men in kilts unless they’re offering coffee.”
Spyder, hands on hips: “Athena, explain!”
Athena, maddeningly cheerful: “Certainly, Captain. The portal appears to have facilitated a transdimensional traversal event.”
Wayne, blinking: “A whatnow?”
Athena: “A shift from one spatial-temporal plane to another. Commonly referred to as a ‘dimension hop.’”
Vanessa, incredulous: “And you didn’t think that was worth mentioning when we tied the boat to the robot?”
Athena, smugly: “Historical data suggests humans often disregard direct warnings of catastrophic outcomes. Phrasing it as ‘unexplained phenomena’ increases compliance and reduces panic.”
Wayne: “Oh, great. So now you’re a morale officer?”
Athena: “Would you like me to categorize this incident as an unexpected success or avoidable mishap?”
Spyder: “Call it whatever you want. Just... where are we?”
It starts with sunrise and a stunned kayaker: “Swear tae Christ, Malcom, there’s a plastic UFO on pontoons anchored in the bay, and it’s got Americans.”
By lunch, the story mutates: Mrs. MacLeod saw a “Star Wars houseboat” materialize “between mist and sheep.” The pub chalkboard reads: NO, THE UFO IS NOT FOR RENT. YES, WE SERVE PIE.
At the dock: Old men shake their heads. Kids try to get Athena to talk like Scotty. Tourists clamor for alien selfies. Confusion reigns. Haggis waits.
Spyder, stretching and sipping coffee: “As long as nobody asks where we parked the Enterprise, we’re golden.”
Vanessa, spotting a photographer: “Someone’s already put us on TikTok. I guarantee it.”
Athena, projecting from hull: “Welcome to Loch Ness, Dauntless crew. Starfleet docking protocol: improvisational mode.”
Tested the portal with FRED and a “safe” tether. Should have known better. Result: Dauntless, crew, AI, snacks, and every bit of American weirdness yanked through a watery shortcut straight into Glasgow’s backyard (allegedly). Emerging: dry, intact, but now surrounded by a land that smells of peat, sheep, and disbelief. Confirmed: Loch Ness. Double-confirmed: nobody here knows how to explain this to the Coast Guard, the British consulate, or my therapist. Champ’s still with us, keeping deep but close. Key goals: don’t get arrested. Don’t lose the boat. And most importantly—protect Champ. Step one: get bearings. Step two: accept that the rulebook is gone.
FRED: 100% functional. Boat: 95%. Dignity: we’ll get back to you. Scotland looks just like the movies, except now I’m starring in the wrong genre. Tether—too short. Next time: bring more cable. Fewer assumptions. Sheep now believe we’re time travelers.
Champ’s scared, but stubborn. She “trusts” us—or something like trust. I can’t sleep—too many dreams. Too many worries. The artifact and the music helped, but it’s clear: Time is short. And so is luck.
Portal transfer: complete. Location: Loch Ness, Scottish Highlands. Local WiFi: weak but available. Emotional state: “adjusting.” Crew recommendation: prepare for “unexpected,” “unprecedented,” and “tea.” Sheep encountered: 12. Hostility: negligible.