The second phase happened days later.
"This is Head of Logistics Division Erika—"
The Omic trailed off before her recorder. She didn't have a last name. Her father had mentioned they possessed one in his great-grandfather's generation, but hard times, forged birth certificates, and civil unrest had erased it from memory's grasp.
The irony struck her as almost hilarious. Her ancestors had reached toward the stars, desperate to forge a legacy for themselves and humanity. A few generations later, their descendants bore neither surnames nor human genomes.
Erika couldn't even laugh at the cosmic joke—she was living its punchline. But hope persisted, even when the communication crystal beeped its hollow denial of signals. The rectangular device—Wonderweiss and Kirby's latest creation, designed to transmit through both conventional channels and Omicron's magnetic fields—delivered only silence, so much for hope.
She sighed. Her father, may he rest in peace, had often complained that nothing ever worked. Part of her found strange comfort in that continuity.
At least the recorder's basic functions didn't require Omicron's emerging network; this minor setback only meant manual backup procedures. Annoying compared to cloud storage, but manageable enough.
Erika reset the recorder and tried again.
"This is the First Head of the Logistics Division, on the graduation expedition of our first forty recruits, titled the Sail to Neptunia. Log One. The weather has been stable so far, but as you know, nothing stays stable in Omicron's seas. We departed from the Rebirth Waterfall only an hour ago and crew morale is dangerously high. Half are drunk on their Omic enhancement; the other half think they're better qualified to lead than me.
"The destination lies at least five days away. Personally, I think we'll need incredible luck to reach it without delays—despite being armed to the teeth. The vessel we're aboard—"
Erika paused and surveyed their ship again.
She felt wrong being stuck in something made from logs. Omicron may have a dearth of resources to climb the proverbial tech tree. Kirby's creation of Omicron Ice had given the planet a signature material, but efforts were still ongoing to make it into anything resembling a proper ship, terrestrial or otherwise. Their progress should lend them something better than this.
Maybe she should be fairer. Carbonite foam had filled the gaps between Omicron's native wood, sourced directly from Leviathan Nest. Wonderweiss and Kirby had even installed electronics of the Prismatic Fiber variety into the ship's interior for convenient inventions. They'd managed to pave the overhead with black photovoltaic panels for energy.
But she still needed to sail through the most hostile ocean known to mankind in a wooden ship—a ship with not a single piece of metal aboard and a propulsion engine that resembled crystalline marvels far too much for her comfort. For someone more used to public transport designed to survive a siege, this ship appeared like a flimsy plastic toy.
Erika continued her record. She peered out the window pane created by Prismatic Fiber. The lapping waves of Omicron's sea and familiar scent of salt helped calm her nerves as words flowed out.
"The vessel we're aboard is historic, though the crew quarters in the cargo hold could use more privacy.
"This next part is my personal opinion. I don't believe this journey will build teamwork—it's too short. Fortunately, that means relationship headaches might not become problems down the line. Still, my doubts remain. Helena keeps trying to pry secrets; her ability to extract details from thin air fundamentally scares me. Part of me believes allowing her to become an Omic was a mistake; another part feels thankful she's still obsessing over that report. I don't know what Lemuel is thinking. The only person I'm moderately friendly with is Mary.
"Truth is, I'm nowhere near ready for this. Thessa and Vienna are leaving for Camelot, abandoning us without leaders. I doubt Varashad and I can fill their shoes, and Eleanor is too busy training with Wonderweiss. Before she left, Vienna told me no one was ever ready for responsibility—they rose up to it. Personally, I hated that advice. We're doomed at this rate. Our best hope is for Edgar to wake up soon."
Erika stopped her recording there. What would fill the next entry only existed as blankness stretched in her head.
Her depressed introspection would have continued beyond the wisdom of moderation, but a girl bursting through her door managed to distract and unbundle the ball of nerves.
"Erika!" Mary cheered and showed a bundle of sketches, thick enough to be sewn into a book. "I've finished my improvements for Rebirth Waterfall. Can you present this when you get to Neptunia?"
The orange-haired woman turned toward the girl. She felt jealous. The young girl had put her enhanced intelligence to work almost immediately without suffering from existential angst. Erika would never know how she accomplished that.
Pressured by that enthusiasm, she took the sketches and flipped through them. Over several pages, they detailed improvements to Rebirth Waterfall.
Mary had grasped the natural beauty of a supernatural waterfall of brine and the spire erected from the sea bed, then begun redesigning every part of her new birthplace like a woman possessed. Already a gifted engineer and architect, her new Omic intelligence pushed her mental acuity to absurd heights. The girl had foregone traditional datapads, instead requesting stacks of paper, citing battery charging as too slow and Omicron's cloud storage as too unreliable.
Erika could hardly disagree, given her recent war with the community's nonexistent infrastructure.
She examined Mary's prized yellow pages. The first three detailed a new ring-like dock—an evolved version of the improvised port they'd left behind—and suspension walkways stretching from north to south, connecting the defensive ring with the spire.
It was a shame the young architect had to sketch with rudimentary pencils—the few they had available. The best electronic stylus credits could afford would do these ideas more justice. She flipped to page four and found concepts for ceramic pillars, cultured with microorganisms mimicking barnacle cement glands to anchor the structures to the seabed. Given centuries, these foundations would grow into an impenetrable embankment—a fortress wrapped in calcareous biomaterial plating, ready for any weapons they hoped to install.
"Excellent work, Mary," Erika applauded and handed the seventy-page sketch back to the black-haired Omic. She already planned to introduce this girl to Sistine. They would get along excellently. "Please tell me you at least took a picture of these as backup."
"I did. Helena told me to do it before I got started," Mary beamed. "She said I am one of the best engineers she has ever met."
Those words were so innocent it broke Erika's heart. The girl—with her black hair and cute face—didn't change much despite becoming an amphibian transhuman who could bench-press more weight than the average man.
"So how is Helena anyway?"
Mary's face sank.
Erika knew why.
"I already told her the report is true," she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose like she could pop her headache like a zit. "There is no secret cipher."
Mary shuffled her feet. "I don't think she will believe you." She then added, "Moreover, that story appears too far-fetched."
"Which part of it is far-fetched?"
"Every single part. And even you have to admit a story about some random kid from Genesis VIII punching out a sea monster and splitting the sky sounds more like a passage from myth than anything real."
Erika studied the young girl, unsure whether to feel relieved or concerned. The strategy had worked beyond her expectations. It baited Helena into becoming an Omic. Once that happened, the former legendary outlaw was connected to Omicron on a spiritual level and compelled to defend this place. She could deny it all she wanted, but like every single Omic, she knew this was her home.
However, even after growing gills and being briefed on the current situation, Helena Christy hadn't quit trying to find the 'truth.' She had stared at Erika and grumbled about needing to dig them out of this new 'hideout' before disaster struck. Yet, she was convinced there was another tier of classified information Wonderweiss had hidden from them all.
She would be right if said secret was the fact the Prime Magister constantly served as a punching bag for Vienna and Edgar. But, as far as the conspiracy theorist was concerned, their invincible legendary founder being suspended in mutagenic fluid at Rebirth Waterfall was propaganda to shore up morale.
The Head of Logistics sighed. She had no hope of convincing anyone. She didn't need to. One look at Edgar Shin in action with all his Communicator power would dispel their doubts instantly. But she, in a mixture of morbid curiosity and duty, needed to know what to expect when this news broke.
"Okay, let's assume Edgar is real. What do you think will be Helena's reaction?"
Mary shrugged. "I don't know." Her forehead scrunched in an attempt to squeeze that image into her mind like juice from a lemon. "If she didn't go white from shock, I think she might go complete raving lunatic."
Erika made a mental note to inform Sahrin—her red-headed subordinate—to open a mental health clinic.
"So what are they doing at the moment?"
"The last I checked they're fishing."
Erika's brain short-circuited. Every sound paused. She must have misheard.
"Pardon?"
"I said they're fishing. The ocean looks—"
"Are they crazy?" The seasoned sufferer of Omicron screamed. She could already hear the irritating planet rubbing its non-existent hands with glee. "Do you think this is some kind of tame terraformed ocean? Mary, get every weapon you can right now!"
"What's gotten into you?"
Mary didn't get any answers. What she got was Erika rummaging through the chest in the captain's quarters and coming back with several weapons. She threw one at Mary; a prototype particle pulse cannon designed to shoot condensed bolts of gas-based ion particles underwater and in space.
"Follow me," Erika rushed out of her quarters so hard she nearly tore the door off its hinges. "We are about to be under attack!"
She burst through the doorways, sparing only a brief second to check the navigation system was still on track, before barreling through the corridor and disappearing into the armory room around the corner.
Mary followed suit like a confused kitten. She stopped at the armory room and waited for a second. Her curiosity won over patience and her hand reached to open it, but the door suddenly flew out of its hinges with the rudeness of a firework and collapsed the wall on the other side.
Erika, now with an extra box of weapons, reemerged like something in the room was out to kill her. Her frantic actions kept Mary's attention glued on her.
"What are you doing?" the orange-haired Omic shouted like their souls depended on it. "Get to the deck now!"
Mary didn't wait to be told twice. This version of Erika scared her, and she had been in the Militia.
On their mad dash, Lemuel Swift ran into them with his rigid bearing. He blinked at the familiar face in unfamiliar fright and said.
"What are—"
"No time to explain!" Erika yelled, dragging Lemuel by the collar with one hand and carrying the weapon crate of salvation with the other. "To the battle stations!"
The Head of Logistics burst down the corridor and climbed back to the deck, only for her heart to sink at the scene before her.
Omics lounged about, basking in the view like tourists on a pleasure cruise. Scattered laughter drifted across the deck as couples joked without care. Some of the more girlish among them giggled like schoolgirls as they held makeshift fishing rods. Even Helena—who she had much higher expectations for—sat by the stern, scanning a datapad with her Omic intelligence fully occupied.
For this travesty, Erika had only one thing to say.
"Stop what you are doing at once!" She turned back to Mary and Lemuel—who struggled to catch his breath after being carried like a cat—and tossed the crate of weapons at the baffled cohort. "Get ready. Things won't stay peaceful for long."
"What's with your attitude?" Helena spoke for the group, looking up from her pad to watch Erika unholster a Siren Eagle and tune a particle pulse rifle to burst fire. "We are in the middle of the sea. You act like this is an active warzone."
"Yes," Erika agreed, but added a correction. "We are in the middle of Omicron's seas, which is pretty much a warzone."
"Now you are being—"
On cue, something huge wrenched a fishing rod from an Omic's hands and shot from the water. Its scaled body, interweaving black and white, careened upward like a rising rocket. This creature—a gigantic sea snake—stared at the Omics like eyeing lunch; a crude fishing rod still dangled from its mouth.
"What is that?" Lemuel gaped hollowly.
"That is the planet taking offense at your tardiness." Erika slid the crate toward him in a single kick powered by Omic strength. "Arm yourselves. These things rarely come alone."
"What's com—" Lemuel started, but the bursting of the waves drowned his sentence.
Another beast—this one with sleek dolphin skin—launched from the waves. The crew witnessed something resembling Earth's prehistoric oceanic predator—four oversized flippers, a long neck, and a sleek gigantic body—sailing over their heads before it tackled the snake in a body slam. Both creatures splashed down with the force of an air strike.
Water fell like sheets of despair, battering the wooden ship in salty brine. Waves hammered the hull, toppling everyone but Erika onto their backs.
The monster, Omicron's version of Plesiosaurus, launched from the water again; its fanged mouth lunged toward a petrified Helena.
Helena felt her life's mistakes flash before her eyes like a movie, but a sonic blast nailed the sea beast's head in a shower of blood. The red fluid splashed across the horrified woman, turning her silvery white hair and datapad crimson.
From a distance, a dual-wielding Erika fired several more parting shots at the monster who continued its parabolic arc back to the sea. Each blast found its mark, forcing the monster to bow out of this battle and return to the depths in blood. Water splashing caught her attention. She spun to greet the reemerging sea serpent with a headshot.
Soaked and sobered, the crew—especially Helena who had greeted death face to face—looked at the gasping Erika in a new light.
"Get the weapons, and check the hull for leaks," Erika barked. "If you think this will be the last attack you face today, you are dreaming."
Chain of command crystallized through the forge of terror. Above them the skies turned dark with clouds and rain hammered down.
"Mary, check below deck for internal damage," Lemuel relayed instructions with newfound authority. "Joshua, distribute those weapons."
Helena shook off her blood-soaked awakening and scrambled toward the weapons crate. She selected a hefty cylinder and heavy handgun, stumbling her way to Erika as waves pitched the deck beneath her feet.
"What should we expect next?" She fought to regain her balance, recalling everything she heard about this sea. "You mentioned taking a similar trip before."
Erika's replies carried battlefield precision. "If we're as unlucky as Thessa, it'll be a Sea Leviathan or Kraken." She growled at the familiar sound of bubbling water. "Those are the real monsters to deal with. We can also run into Omicron Megalodons, but they mostly leave you alone—we're even thinking about domesticating them."
"Domesticating what?"
"Not important." Erika frowned at the sound of familiar skittering and went dual-wielding. "I know what's coming next. Duck low and avoid the foam; that stuff hardens like cement." Her voice cut through the rain. "Someone get me the canister labeled 'Sonic Grenade'!"
"What foam—"
Skittering sounds erupted around them, punctuated by panicked shouts as torso-sized crabs swarmed the deck, spewing hardening foam with every step.
"Hello again, you stupid crustaceans," Erika snarled, while her companions shrieked like horror film victims. "This is for the last time you drenched me!" Her rifle flared and obliterated crab after crab while the newcomers fought with scattered nerves. "We're having crab meat tonight!"
"Can we eat these?" Lemuel grunted, battling a crab with his rifle butt and winning after clubbing it before blasting it at point-blank range.
"You think we have unlimited rations?" Erika screeched back, blasting another to pieces. "They taste like sawdust, but your new physiology can handle it!"
Helena tried to ask for more information, but snapping claws clamped her ankle—delivering the worst pain of her life until Erika freed her with sonic-powered violence and more profanity than she appeared capable of.
Above their furious battle against the swarm, unnoticed by anyone, a silvery egg-shaped spaceship slipped silently through the storm clouds and into space.