The morning sun hung high when the UENS Horizon approached the mainland. The sea was calm, the air sharp with the smell of salt.
Ahead, the Kingdom's port of Aderis came into view with it's wide stone piers, rows of warehouses, and ships with bright sails crowding the harbor.
From the bridge, Captain Reku watched the scene through his binoculars. The horizon shimmered with color, banners, merchant flags, and the rising smoke from forges near the shipyards. Compared to the metal hull of the Horizon, everything looked aged but alive.
"It's hard to miss us among those," his executive officer muttered.
Reku lowered the binoculars.
"We're a black stain in a painting. Keep our approach steady. And no sudden moves."
The Kingdom envoy fleet sailed ahead, their sails filled by the wind. The Horizon followed in escort position, moving at a crawl. Along the docks, crowds gathered. Some pointed at the ship's hull, others held back as if watching a sea monster glide in.
Reku said nothing. His eyes tracked the port's defenses — two watchtowers on the left pier, a battery of old cannons on the right, and soldiers standing in rigid lines. Nothing looked threatening, but the tension was there.
He gave a small nod to the helmsman.
"Maintain course. Let the envoy lead us in."
The Horizon's engines hummed softly as they entered the harbor, a sound unlike anything the people of Aderis had ever heard.
The dockhands moved quickly, waving colored flags to guide the envoy fleet. The ships slipped into position one by one, their ropes thrown ashore.
When it came to the Horizon, the locals hesitated. The mooring lines were thicker than they'd ever handled, and the ship's metal hull towered over their wooden piers.
Chief Boatswain Lopez called out from the deck,
"Take the line! Port side, steady!" His voice echoed over the water.
The dockhands scrambled, tying the heavy rope around the mooring posts. When the Horizon finally settled, the sound of steel against stone drew murmurs from the crowd.
Reku stood on the bridge, watching every motion. The Kingdom's sailors worked hard and clean. Their hand signals were old-fashioned but efficient. And he respected that.
"Different tools, same instinct," he said quietly.
"Sir?" the XO asked.
"Doesn't matter the world or the time. The discipline looks the same."
On the pier, the Kingdom envoy stepped forward — the same noble who'd led the sea voyage. Behind him, interpreters and armored guards stood in formation. Their movements were rehearsed, formal, almost ceremonial.
Reku adjusted his cap and nodded slightly to his own crew.
"Let's make this clean. No weapons displayed. Helmets off unless ordered."
The ramp lowered with a slow hiss.
The first exchange took place at the foot of the ramp. The envoy began speaking in his language — calm, rehearsed phrases of welcome.
Reku turned to Lieutenant Harlow, head of Horizon's tech team, who carried a small metal case.
"Let's see if that thing works," Reku said.
Harlow opened the case and revealed a compact translator unit— a palm-sized device linked by cable to an earpiece and a small mic clipped to the chest.
They'd spent the voyage fine-tuning it using the data gathered from the earlier island contact.
When the envoy spoke again, the device caught the sound. A brief light flickered, then a flat, monotone voice repeated through the small speaker:
"Welcome to Aderis, captain."
The words were slightly delayed, the accent awkward, but understandable. Reku tried not to smile.
"That's close enough," he said.
"Better than hand signals."
He switched the channel. "Let's see how it does in reverse."
He spoke slowly into the mic. "Thank you for the welcome."
The device buzzed for half a second before echoing his message in the envoy's language.
The noble blinked in surprise, then gave a cautious smile.
"Your words are understood, captain."
The tension eased slightly. Crew members and guards relaxed their postures. For the first time, they were speaking — not guessing.
Harlow exhaled in relief. "It's rough, but it works."
"Good," Reku said. "Keep it running. We'll need every bit of clarity we can get."
From that moment, the translator stayed active, bridging the two sides through a half-second of delay and cautious understanding.
Once formalities were done, the port came alive with work. The Horizon's crew began unloading crates — supplies, repair kits, and salvage from the pirate skirmish days earlier.
Reku walked along the pier, taking in the sights.
The dock was orderly but old — wooden planks patched over years of use, ropes thick with tar, cranes run by pulleys and men, not engines. Yet the rhythm was steady.
Locals brought carts filled with fresh supplies — fruits, barrels of water, baskets of fish still dripping. Deals were struck through the translator, slow but honest.
A group of Horizon sailors traded canned goods for woven bracelets and smoked meat. Laughter broke the tension, even if every joke took two seconds to translate.
"Keep it friendly," Reku reminded them as he passed. "We're guests here, not tourists."
He stopped at the edge of the pier, scanning the port's layout.
Shipyards lined the east side; beyond them, a small fortress overlooked the water. The Kingdom's organization impressed him.
They weren't primitive — just shaped by a different era.
His XO joined him. "They're taking it well, sir."
"For now," Reku said. "Curiosity beats fear. Let's keep it that way."
Later that afternoon, Rekus entered the comms room. The air buzzed with static. Two operators sat by the console, headphones on, cycling through frequencies.
"Anything?" Reku asked.
Petty Officer Mason shook his head. "No signal, sir. Just background noise. Same as yesterday."
"Interference?"
"Hard to say. Could be atmospheric. Could be… distance."
Reku leaned over the console, listening to the faint hiss. No trace of Command, no return ping.
"Log it," he said finally. "Keep trying every six hours. Same protocol."
"Yes, sir."
As he left, he paused at the doorway, looking back at the silent radio. The hum of the ship filled the room.
By late afternoon, the Kingdom envoy returned, accompanied by his attendants and guards.
Through the translator, he addressed Reku:
"The King of Aderis sends his greetings and extends an invitation. He wishes to speak with you in the capital."
Reku nodded slightly. "That's generous. What's the distance?"
"A day's travel by carriage, perhaps more. The roads are safe. You would be our honored guest."
Behind the envoy, two royal carriages waited — dark wood, gold trim, drawn by strong horses. The gesture was unmistakably formal, almost regal.
Reku glanced at his XO. "They're taking this seriously."
"Yes, sir," the XO said. "Diplomatic-grade welcome."
Reku turned back to the envoy. "Tell His Majesty I accept. I'll make preparations."
The envoy smiled, bowing slightly. "The convoy will depart tomorrow morning. We'll ensure your comfort, Captain Reku."
When they left, Reku stood in silence for a moment, looking at the carriages fading into the crowd.
That evening, the sun dropped behind the harbor towers. On deck, the crew worked quietly — securing equipment, logging maintenance reports, and monitoring the translator's calibration.
Reku leaned on the railing, watching the lanterns light up across the port. The XO and Lieutenant Olsen, the ship's pilot, joined him.
Olsen broke the silence first.
"We could take the chopper, sir. Be there in under an hour."
Reku didn't answer right away. He kept his eyes on the harbor.
"And rattle half their countryside doing it?"
Olsen shrugged. "Would make an impression."
"Not the kind we need," Reku said.
The XO nodded. "Carriage convoy will take a day, maybe more. Roads look rough from here."
Reku turned toward them. "We came here to build trust, not show power. We do this their way."
Olsen smirked faintly. "Guess I'll stay with the bird, then."
"Make sure she's ready," Reku said. "Just in case this turns into something else."
The three stood in quiet for a while, listening to the low hum of the port — distant hammers, waves against stone, and the faint chatter of locals still pointing at the steel ship under the fading sky.
By nightfall, the Horizon had settled into routine. Half the crew stayed aboard, maintaining systems and standing watch. The rest rotated in small groups, trading with locals or helping organize supplies onshore.
The translator devices were now worn like standard gear — clipped to belts, blinking softly with each spoken phrase.
Misunderstandings still happened, but laughter followed instead of tension.
One sailor traded a flashlight for a carved wooden pipe. Another showed a group of dock boys how to tie a proper mooring knot. The locals returned the favor, teaching them hand signs used for ship signals.
From the bridge, Reku observed quietly. For the first time since their arrival in this world, there was a sense of normalcy. No gunfire, no alarms — just work, light, and cautious curiosity.
He stepped into his quarters later that night and opened his logbook. The lamp on his desk cast a soft glow across the pages. His handwriting was clean, deliberate.
No contact with Command. Situation stable.Establishing diplomatic grounds with local kingdom.Translator operating at approximately 80 percent accuracy.Crew morale positive.
Local cooperation improving.Will proceed inland tomorrow under escort of the royal envoy.
He paused before writing the last line.
Objective: Maintain peace. Gather intelligence. Preserve trust.
He closed the logbook and looked out through the small window. The port of Aderis glowed faintly under the moonlight. Lanterns flickered on the water, and distant voices carried across the night.
For the first time in days, the captain felt the ship breathe easy.
As midnight neared, the port quieted. Only the creak of ropes and the soft hum of the ship's systems filled the air. A few sentries walked the pier, their torches moving like fireflies.
Rekus stood once more on the bridge wing, hands resting on the rail. Below him, sailors finished their shifts. Beyond the docks, the city lights shimmered — a mix of torches, oil lamps, and the faint glow of glass lanterns.
"Different world," he murmured. "But people still find a way to keep the night alive."
He stayed there for a few more minutes, then turned toward the bridge door.
"To all sections," he said over the intercom.
"Maintain current posture. Rest rotation begins Tomorrow, we move inland."
He set the radio mic down and exhaled quietly. The horizon outside was dark, calm, and waiting.
Whatever came next — the talks, the politics, the uncertainty, it would start in the morning.
The port lights flickered one last time before steadying, painting the water in a quiet glow.
The crew of the Horizon slept under foreign stars, and for a brief moment, the world felt almost peaceful.