I am a princess of Merika. Of course. Of course I am. But what is this? In what manner does this corpse behind the glass portend the changing of the wind?

After defeating the tentacular abomination, we uncover a capsule in the middle of the room. It is still variously glowing red or frozen blue. It seems to have been an important object, and I worry that we may have damaged it. Nevertheless, I have everyone normalize its temperature with whatever magics are convenient.

Madame Nee is hitting it with knee spears. The exhilaration of combat has not yet left her. This will not do.

I chop her head with my hand. She is rolling on the floor. Good, reflect on your actions.

The capsule is cool to the touch, but only once I feel the between-warmth and cold of the metal that I realize that its size is phenomenal—twice the size of a man.

There is a glass viewport at the head of the capsule. I move over and look into it.

“There is little light. Cross! Pass me some illumination!”

My crossbowman cracks a bolthead like a nut and it glows. I receive it from him and put it against the viewport.

First, I see the deep, round black—the ocular of a skull. I see the rest of the skull eventually as my eyes adjust. There are various wires and tubes attached to it, which I cannot help but to liken to the same wires and tubes that travel throughout Sir Grey’s corridors.

Our attention is interrupted by gunfire coming from the entrance of the chamber. It sounds like Sir Grey’s repeating firearms.

“What? Sir Grey’s Marines?” Aureos blurts out.

“The heck.” “Oh! More people to heal!”

“Everyone, meet them at the door!” I shout my order. The squad mobilizes, and Madame Nee is fired up once more—but cautiously, as I silently hover my hand over her head.

We fill the hallway beyond with lights, ready to support the coming marines. We are already hearing the desperate pleas of men.

“Aye ya scraggly focks, come ‘ere an’ eat lead!”

… Perhaps they are better off? Nevertheless, we are ready to receive them.

The first marine comes tumbling out of the corner, executing a flawless combat roll, bringing his rifle to bear and firing six shots in less than two seconds. The shots echo deeply, thumping along the odd acoustics of the walls. With each shot he takes, the feathers on his hat are ruffled back.

He picks himself up and runs towards us. Behind him, more of his comrades variously slide, tumble, and normally turn out of the corner, chasing after him. Behind them, an overflowing horde of mimics is coming.

Aureos and the combat members of my squad step forward, keeping spaces between themselves to let the marines through.

As soon as the last marine crosses their formation, a magic circle emerges from the hand of Aureos, and it glows.

That is when, from two points on the ceiling and two points on the floor, defense turrets appear—the same lightning rods that left even Liza half-dead.

We scramble to destroy them. I pump nearly all of my magic into a barrier covering my person, and I prepare to step off into a godspeed lunge and cleave the turret before it could fire.

But I am too late.

They fire towards the horde.

I am at once confused and relieved.

The corridor’s lighting is electric for nearly an entire minute, and we are all dumbfounded. The horde’s monsters keep coming, and they step over or chomp through the flash-roasted remains of their kin, but all they achieve is the very same state of electric roastedness.

I will not lie. In my name, the name of Princess Eagle Samantha Burnheart of the Kingdom of Merika, all of this roasting is making me hungry.

The defense turrets retreat into their spider holes, and we are left with a hallway full of ozone and possibly toxic, but well-done mimic meat.

{Thank … you…}

We do not register the words for a while. Sir Grey speaks through devices of the same kind—but we nearly jump out of our skin as we realize that this is not Sir Grey.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

The marines flourish their weapons every which way. My squad is once more on alert, but I… I believe in those words.

They are like words from a dying old man. I know, as I listened to my grandfather’s. There is no trick here.

I sheathe my sword and return to the inner circle of the chamber, where the capsule remains. Aureos follows closely behind, along with my guards. Some of the marines follow inside as well, but many of them stay outside, and the ones who do come in do not stray far from the door.

There is a light beep that sounds twice, coming from the center of the capsule. A square panel of light emerges in purple.

{Thank … you…}

There is the voice again, a quiet one that echoes all around us.

I approach the capsule.

“Princess!” Aureos calls in a hushed tone.

“All is fine, Aureos.” I bow towards the capsule and lift my head. “Our answer is here.”

I am now within a garden party’s speaking distance of the glowing panel.

“Good evening, sir spirit, our mighty foe.”

There is no answer. I wait for a minute, but all it does is make my men grow more tense.

“Would you care to entertain me for a moment?”

The panel blinks. It seems to be considering me.

{… is my mission … over?}

The voice is coming from the panel itself. It does not echo, and I feel that I am finally facing someone—though entombed they may be. I get the feeling that this man—if he is a man—is a soldier.

“State your mission, so I may conclude it.”

The panel blinks once more.

{… Alliance Directive … control, elimination … of invaders…}

“What invaders?” I ask—though I believe they are demons.

{… Hive …}

The marines’ rifles come alive once more, and the defense turrets spring up—but only three of them.

{… go … release me … when you … are safe…}

He is weakening. It seems that we must escape while his defenses may still yet aid us, but before that…

“What is your name?”

{… Moonscar …}

How apt. “Thank you, Sir Moonscar. I bid my leave. We will remember you.”

{… Thank—you.}

***

We escaped the ship with little trouble, with Sir Moonscar’s turrets aiding us around many corners and hallways. I am only a slight dejected that I could not have spoken with him for longer, but he seemed to have been in suffering for a long time.

That his defenses were turned against us originally, only to come to our aid—did it have something to do with the abomination that nested above his capsule? I cannot imagine an alternative line of thought to this.

As we enter the fast boats, the marines raise cheers of going home, even while they dispatch the mimics with firearms. It is impressive that firearms are effective, though that may only be because of Sir Grey’s technological advance in that regard.

The boat starts, and we are free. The salt sprays heighten my awareness of Sir Moonscar’s shrinking visage.

***

{Sam? You okay?}

I am staring at my bento box—it is par for the course that I would first rush to the mess hall and acquire one from Kirukiru-sensei before anything else. Its flavors are much like the sea I had just left behind.

Next I was aware of, I was already in the Operations Room, occupying the couch. It is not as comfortable as I would normally remark.

{Sam? Hello, Princess of Merika?}

I hurry to my feet and give a curtsy.

Ah. Why did I give a curtsy.

{… Yeah, there’s something wrong with you, and it’s not just coz you’re tired from the mission.}

“Forgive me, Sir Grey.” I sit back down on the couch. I yearn for some distraction, possibly from Marge. Perhaps watching and her and Sir Grey interact would do it? I am unsure.

{What’s got you down? Found something in there? It have to do with the voice in my head?}

“The vessel’s name is Moonscar, and he was possessed by those you call Mimics. He referred to an enemy called”Hive," and he… was so much more like a dying old man than I had prepared myself for."

{… Heywaitasec, so the Hooked Up to a Tube Theory is true?! Marge!}

Within 20 seconds, I hear the pitter patter of someone who is too abnormally used to sprinting in heels.

The heavy steel door to the Operations Room bursts open. Although Marge’s hand is upon it, I imagine that Sir Grey aided her in opening it to preserve the effect.

“Princess Bestie! I’ve heard the details and I’m here to assist your swollen heart! Sir Grey! Refreshments, please!”

Marge sits beside me. From the corner, a troupe of disc golems, those which Sir Grey calls “rumbas,” make their way to mine and Marge’s feet. Atop of them are wine glasses filled with sparkling water.

It is not wine, but it will do.

“Is this about your old man Damon, Bestie?”

Marge grips my arm, but not too tightly. I look up to her, and her smile is as kind as I remember.

“Perhaps if he were alive, we wouldn’t be—”

Marge squishes my face. “Just say you miss him. No Princess Business.”

It is so against my years of upbringing. Refuse to let your composure crack!—is what it is telling me.

Marge pulls me into embrace.

And I crack.

It is a single tear.

I cannot bawl, for it has been long since my grandfather’s passing. He was kinder than my father. I do not understand the disconnect between them.

Nevertheless, a drop of reality makes its way down my cheek. Marge slowly pulls away, and she wipes away the tear.

“See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?” she says with a smile.

“This—this wouldn’t do. This comfort may grow too addicting that it is dangerous.”

I turn my eyes up to meet Marge’s, and we burst into giggles.

{—Why don’t you build me up (build me up) // Buttercup baby, I won’t let you down (let you down)—}

Marge and I are taken aback in the change in Sir Grey’s voice.

“Hey Greyster! You never said you could sing like that!” Marge protests with a fist in the air.

{Oh no no no no—I’m just playing music, okay? I just found some neat MP3’s in the private logs, and it kinda felt right at the moment to play it? Not the best song choice, though…}

… What is an MP3? Never mind that. I take a deep breath and resume my composure as a princess of Merika.

“Sir Grey, playing aside, there is a favor I must ask of you.”

{I think I’ve said this before, but you’re technically my C.O.—}

“This is beyond our standings as officer and—ship.”

Memories of Sir Moonscar’s oversized body flash in my mind. If he had a body, then perhaps Sir Grey does as well—and we must do well to defend it at all costs.

“Sir Moonscar had a physical body, though he may not have been human. We eliminated a creature atop of his coffin, and it seemed that it was controlling him or interfering with his control of his ship in some manner. Sir Grey—I believe that you realize what the implications are for yourself?”