Jennifer jolted awake to the shrill pulse of a proximity alarm, slicing through the heavy fog of unintended sleep. Her eyes snapped open, heart thundering as panic surged through her veins. She grasped the wheel reflexively, fingers flying deftly across the controls as if guided by some hidden instinct. She threw the throttle into full reverse, the engines roaring to life in protest as the barge shuddered violently, its momentum grinding sharply to a halt just before making contact with the makeshift dock ahead.
Her breathing came in quick, shallow bursts, adrenaline flooding every nerve ending. Her hands moved with practiced ease, flipping switches and adjusting dials she knew, deep down, she had never touched before. The dissonance gnawed at her mind even as her body performed flawlessly.
It wasn't her experience guiding these actions, it was Rivets'. His memories, his skill. Somehow, she had pulled them into herself, absorbing them like ink bleeding into paper. Each gesture felt natural and alien at the same time. Here she was, navigating the complex array of controls as if she'd spent years at the helm.
Jennifer's thoughts tightened, a quiet dread seeping into her consciousness. How much more can I take from others before there's nothing left of me?
She didn't have long to linger on the thought. As the shuddering and rumbling subsided into a low, disgruntled murmur from the engines, a sharp knock at the helm's door startled her again. She nearly jumped out of the captain's chair as the door swung open to reveal Rivets, his weathered face drawn tight with disbelief.
"Hey Jenn, what the hell," he started, stepping halfway through the doorway, a playful yet suspicious edge in his voice. "Did ya fall asleep again?"
Jennifer spun the chair around smoothly, effortlessly masking her unease behind an easy grin. "No idea what you're talking about, you salty old rat."
His eyebrow lifted, skeptical. Before he could question further, she quickly redirected him, nodding toward the viewport. "But I do know," she continued lightly, with a confident tilt of her head, "this is as far as we can take them with the boat."
Rivets blinked, surprise flickering across his features as he glanced through the glass. "We're here already?" He paused, confusion creasing his brow. "Were you up here the whole time? Damn, Jenn, this is the fastest we've ever gone this far. Guess it's time to wake the boys."
Jennifer merely smiled in response, the expression lingering perhaps a fraction too long, just enough for Rivets' seasoned instincts to stir again. He regarded her carefully, eyes narrowing with a curious scrutiny.
"If I didn't know any better," he said slowly, the corner of his mouth quirking into a knowing smirk, "I'd say you've got something to tell me."
Jennifer kept silent, maintaining her enigmatic expression as Rivets shook his head, chuckling softly. He turned, tail swishing thoughtfully as he retreated down the corridor, leaving her alone in the gentle hum and flicker of the helm's instrument lights.
Once Rivets had vanished from view, Jennifer exhaled deeply, turning back to the controls. Her hands trembled slightly now, the borrowed certainty beginning to fade.
Carefully, deliberately, she guided the boat toward the makeshift dock. Her movements were steady, certain, yet entirely unfamiliar, like walking in shoes molded for someone else's feet. She allowed herself a brief moment of uneasy satisfaction, whispering softly into the quiet of the helm, "Thanks for the help, old man."
Jennifer continued through the docking procedures, once more leaning into Rivets' borrowed experiences, navigating them as if they were second nature. The knowledge unfolded effortlessly, almost tangible, a clear list etched neatly into her mind.
Line up your approach and survey the docking area.
She took a moment, casting a quick, careful glance across the makeshift dock. It was crude, cobbled together from rusted metal and scavenged wooden planks, but solid enough.
Take your time, proceed slowly towards the dock using intermittent acceleration.
She pulsed the throttle gently, letting the boat glide forward in short, measured bursts.
Never approach a dock any faster than you're willing to hit it.
Jennifer chuckled softly under her breath as the boat thumped against the dock. "Done," she muttered wryly, "though it could have been a lot worse."
Prepare dock lines on your bow and stern and attach fenders.
She rose swiftly, grabbing the coils of rope from their hooks and striding toward the bow first, then the stern. With a casual efficiency that wasn't quite hers, she tossed the rope onto the dock and climbed carefully overboard.
Judge the current, wind, and water conditions.
Her gaze swept across the canal, noticing the stillness. The water lay calm and placid, the air unmoving in the enclosed tunnels. Perfect conditions. She knelt down, quickly fastening the lines, her fingers moving with precision, knotting each rope in a perfect Clove hitch, textbook-perfect in every detail.
By the time Jennifer stepped back from her work, the rest of the crew had begun to appear from below decks.
Matias emerged first, alert as ever, scanning their surroundings warily.
Behind him came Castin, mid-conversation with Kiernan, an animated energy in his voice despite the early hour.
"I'm telling you, Kiernan, it was like I was having someone else's dream!"
Kiernan, rubbing his temples tiredly, sighed deeply. "Yeah… you've mentioned that already, Castin."
Jennifer bit back a small smile as she watched the others shuffle out into the weak morning glow. Lorne followed quietly behind, eyes sharp despite his calm demeanor. Garret and Vance came last, Garret's silence only due to the ration bar stuffed into his mouth, chewing vigorously.
Jennifer's gaze settled briefly on Vance, noting the proud, almost affectionate way he cradled his shotgun, an eager gleam in his eye.
"I can't wait for you guys to see what this thing can do," he announced enthusiastically, giving the weapon a pat.
Lorne chuckled dryly, shaking his head. "Sure, provided you don't get shot again like last time."
Castin shook his head "Vance believe it or not, I'm hoping I don't have to see you use it."
A gentle presence at her side pulled Jennifer's attention away from the crew. Rivets stood next to her, arms folded, gazing fondly at the secured boat.
"See you put her to bed. Good job, Jen," he praised warmly, patting her shoulder affectionately.
Jennifer offered a faint smile, gratitude and uncertainty briefly flickering in her eyes before she quickly masked it. Rivets nodded forward toward the assembled group, his tail swishing lightly with anticipation.
"Come on, then," he urged, voice firm but gentle, "let's go check in and see them off."
Jennifer gave a final glance at the boat, her fingertips tracing idly along the rope she had tied so skillfully, before following Rivets toward the waiting team. Together, they crossed the short stretch of dock in silence, the wooden planks bowing gently under their weight, damp from canal mist and worn by time. The soft lap of water against the hull filled the quiet, broken only by the dull clinks of shifting gear and the low murmur of final preparations.
A few of the team stood in a loose semicircle, adjusting harnesses, tightening straps, double-checking weapons with a focused efficiency that came not from eagerness, but from practiced tension.
Rivets moved among them briefly, offering a wordless nod to Matias, a low grunt of acknowledgment to Kiernan. He gave Vance a look that said don't get cocky, and got a toothy grin in return. His usual muttered sarcasm was notably absent.
Jennifer hung back just a pace, watching. She kept her arms folded, her weight subtly shifting from one foot to the other. Her face held an easy calm, but her eyes were scanning, taking in the tightness of Castin's jaw, the way Garret kept glancing over his shoulder at the boat, like trying to memorize it just in case. Lorne, ever unreadable, offered nothing at all but a curt nod in her direction.
The group began their slow departure. One by one, they stepped off the dock and into the broken remains of what once may have been a maintenance pathway, swallowed now by creeping ivy, rusted scaffold, and the long, quiet dark of the tunnel ahead. Their footsteps echoed softly, boots pressing into moss and gravel, their figures gradually absorbed by the shadows.
Jennifer stood beside Rivets, watching as the last of them disappeared into the gloom. The fading clatter of metal and muttered voices left behind a stillness that settled in her chest like a weight. Her gaze lingered at the curve of the tunnel, where the darkness took them, as if willing herself to see just a little farther than the rest.
Jennifer stood beside Rivets as they watched the last of them vanish into the dark curve of the tunnel ahead, swallowed by shadows and dim echoes of their footsteps.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
The quiet on the dock was different from the quiet on the water. This silence felt grounded, like breath held too long or the moment before thunder cracks. The glow from the barge cast long reflections on the canal walls, painting the scene in hues of oil-slick amber and rusted gold.
Rivets broke the silence with a low grunt, kneeling down to inspect a weld near the aft pipe. "Anchor's holding better than it ever did," he muttered, striking his tool against the patch. "Didn't think she had it in her."
Jennifer crouched beside him, hands resting on her knees. "She's stubborn. Has a mind of her own." Her voice was light, but the weight behind it betrayed her.
Rivets smirked. "Sounds like someone else I know."
They lapsed back into work, Rivets adjusting bolts and inspecting lines while Jennifer double-checked power levels and verified fuel readings. Time passed in quiet rhythm, each of them moving with purpose and practiced ease. It could have been any day, any routine maintenance check, if not for the unspoken thing hanging between them.
After nearly an hour of working side by side, Jennifer finally stood straight, brushing her hands against her pants.
"You know I'm going with them," she said softly, as if saying it louder might break something.
Rivets didn't look up. He just nodded. "Aye. I figured as much."
He tapped the edge of the weld with his wrench, testing it, before finally rising to meet her gaze. His eyes weren't angry. They weren't even surprised. Just tired. Tired, and knowing.
"And I know I can't stop you either," he added, wiping his hands on a rag. "Even if I wanted to. Somehow, it'd turn into my idea for you to go in the first place."
Jennifer smiled faintly, not denying it.
Rivets turned back toward the edge of the boat, looking out into the dark where they had just sailed in from. His voice grew quieter.
"I know you've got some reason to be here," he said. "Something callin' you to this point. I could see it in you, the itch. Ever since we took this job. Wasn't just the money. Wasn't just the cause. You were followin' something."
She didn't respond. She didn't have to.
"I know it's a lot to ask," he continued, still facing away, "but—" He turned around mid-sentence, only to find the space beside him empty.
Jennifer was already halfway down the dock, her silhouette framed in the glow of the barge light, rounding the corner toward the tunnel without hesitation.
Rivets sighed.
"Could ya try to be…" He rubbed the back of his neck. "Safe."
The echo of her footsteps faded into the cavernous dark.
And then, there was only the gentle lapping of water, the hum of the boat at rest, and the distant flicker of danger waiting up ahead.