Part 14: A Call for Help

The figure running down the corridor narrowly avoids another container, the ferrofluid violently swirling in his tank.
Ulrich: Flux's sake, I can't work under these dim lights. Could this cheapskate cruise liner not spring for some decent halogens or fluorescents?
Ulrich briskly makes his way down the corridor, the asymmetrical nuclide R collector inside his briefcase buzzing loudly.
Collector: Bzz ... BZZZ ... BZZZZZZ!
Ulrich: Just as I expected. The closer I get, the more erratically the collector's gauge reacts. I must pinpoint this ship's current location as soon as possible!
Ulrich: Wait, the readings are a bit off. Ugh, is it because of the seawater?! Or is there an abundant load of nuclide R in this area?
He crouches down, laying the suitcase on the ground and pounding on it.
Collector: ———/&@!#(!
Ulrich: This thing must be broken. When I get my hands on the engineers responsible for maintaining this, I swear I'll—
Ulrich: Calm yourself and think, Ulrich. Did you miss anything crucial?
Ulrich: ...!
Ulrich: Ah, yes! The oily slime in the power supply room. A rudimentary test showed that its refractive index and infrared spectrum closely matched our samples from Manus Vindictae.
Communicator: Beep beep! Beep beep!
The ringing of the communicator interrupts his thoughts.
Ulrich: Huh, who's calling? Regulus?
Regulus: Finally! I've been trying to reach you for a while now, Ulrich!
Ulrich: Calling to check on the "Artificial Storm" project, are you? I still have a way to go. I'll call you when I need a hand or two.
Regulus: No, no, no! I'm afraid I'm not offering you a hand. I'm asking for one!
Regulus: We need you topside you fabulous Fish Tank! There's a gang of Manus thugs here!
Ulrich leaps to his feet. Amid the static, he has caught the most crucial piece of information.
Ulrich: The Manus ... huh ...
Ulrich: There's sure to be a considerable amount of nuclide within their masks. Perhaps I don't need this unreliable scrap of metal after all!
Ulrich: Send me your location straight away, Regulus!
Ulrich: Where are these Manus thugs?!
A surging dark mass of people blocks Ulrich's view.
Ulrich: Flux's sake! This is a bigger crowd than I expected!
His "bulb" stands out amidst the crowd, causing the spread of a new panic as they retreat from him.
Guest I: Who is this walking lightbulb?!
Guest II: Oh, my God! I don't want to end up with a lightbulb for a head!
Ulrich: Huh? What are you talking ab—
Disciple of the Manus: Stop ...! roar
Ulrich nimbly dodges the hammer blow, intense electrical impulses surging through his body.
Disciple of the Manus: Uggghhh!
Ulrich: There we are, another extract of asymmetrical nuclide R!
Though poised to take action, Ulrich is promptly stopped by the pleading hostages.
Regulus: Ulrich, we're over here!
Ulrich: Wonderful, I should be able to extract even more over th—
He is immediately cut short upon entering the crowd.
Disciple of the Manus: Kill ...! roar
Ulrich narrowly avoids another attack before finally reuniting with the others.
Ulrich: This seems to be a bit more than a gang—closer to a horde, really. You understated your situation, Regulus!
Vertin: Your help is much appreciated all the same, Mr. Ulrich.
Ulrich: Help? Well, I'm afraid I won't be much help to you, Timekeeper. Fighting is far from my specialty.
Regulus: Blimey!
Regulus feels utterly lost.
Sonetto: They seem to be corralling the guests. At least, they aren't hurting them for now.
Vertin: It isn't about hurting them. She wants to recruit more followers.
Countless steely, emotionless eyes scan the crowd with icy precision.
Regulus: Is there a single ship in this whole bleeding world that doesn't belong to either the Foundation or the Manus?
Vertin: Mr. Ulrich, does Laplace possess any technology that could detect an imminent "Storm"?
Ulrich: We made several attempts to do so in the aftermath of the second "Storm," but none of them proved effective.
Ulrich: Since that time, we've become reliant on the "Storm" alerts from the Foundation, or more specifically, from you, Timekeeper.
Vertin: Ms. Grace claimed that the "Storm" was coming, and she managed to accurately predict the occurrence of the anomaly outside.
Vertin: Yet, my watch has shown no sign of an imminent "Storm."
Light rain is tapping on the porthole. Sonetto unconsciously tightens the cuffs on her sleeve.
Sonetto: In any event, I believe in you, Timekeeper.
Vertin: Thank you, Sonetto. But it isn't you that I need to convince. It's them.
Countless eyes filled with fear, suspicion, and hostility remain fixed on them.
Ulrich: ...
Ulrich: No wonder my readings were going wild.
Ulrich: Apologies, Timekeeper. Though nothing would make me happier than disproving Manus Vindictae, I can't deny the possibility that these phenomena are precursors to the "Storm."
This is not a reassuring answer.
The wind howls fiercely.
The horizon has become almost completely obscured. Far-off islands and faintly visible reefs blend into one another, as if smeared with an even darker shade of paint.
Amid the crowd, people slump to the ground, their sobs lingering in the air.
Barcarola: Please, everyone, listen. We have to stay calm!
Struggling to her feet with the help of her Crackling Box, Barcarola rises to fulfill her duty once again.
Barcarola: I ask you to put your faith in me, and in the "Free Breeze."
Guest III: I should have never come to this party.
Guest IV: sob I want to go home! I'm scared.
Guest V: Someone help us, please!
Barcarola's voice is utterly drowned out by the wails of the crowd.
Barcarola: What can I do to get these people's attention?
*thud*
A massive sound resonates from the bow of the ship, sending a vibration so strong that many are thrown to the ground.
Frightened Guest: What? What's happening?!
Cabin Announcement: Due to low visibility at sea, some public services on the "Free Breeze" will be temporarily suspended. We apologize for any inconvenience caused.
Cabin Announcement: We are now entering an area of treacherous reef. During this time, there may be some sharp shifts in course.
Guests: ...
Cabin Announcement: In order that we might reach the new era as soon as possible, the "Free Breeze" will forge ahead at full speed.
Cabin Announcement: Please stay indoors and, in case of emergency, hold on to the handrails.
Cabin Announcement: I repeat. Please stay indoors and hold on to the handrails.
Frightened Crew Member: Captain Grace, why in the world is the "Free Breeze" going full speed through these reefs?
Ms. Grace: To embrace the future.
Surprised Crew Member: But if we strike any of these reefs, the damage could be catastrophic!
Ms. Grace: Not as catastrophic as missing our chance to embrace the "Storm."
Her softly spoken words fall on deaf ears.
Angry Guest: You deranged loon! I won't stand for this. You're just trying to scare us into joining your cult!
Angry Guest: I'll bet there's no reef, no storm at all. This is trickery, and I intend to prove it!
Ms. Grace: Do as you wish, sir.
Ms. Grace: Please watch your footing. The wind is howling outside.
She gives a polite nod as the guest storms out of the cabin.
Angry Guest: Look, I'm standing firm as a bould—
The guest stands firm on the deck, like a warrior singing triumphantly between Scylla's cliffs and Charybdis' whirlpool.
That is, until he's struck by the power of the wind.
Angry Guest: Ahhhh!
His scream is quickly drowned in the storm as he vanishes into the void.
Guests: ...
One guest pulls the hatch closed again, blocking out the howling wind outside and returning their one safe haven to silence.
Sonetto: The gentleman is gone!
Vertin: Ms. Grace, you murdered that man.
Ms. Grace: What an utterly baffling accusation. Have I shot him, stabbed him? No. The choice was always in his own hands, wasn't it?
The hall remains silent.
After a long while, one quivering guest steps forward.
Frightened Guest: Captain, you said you'd save us if we joined Manus Vindictae, right?
Ms. Grace: It's not as simple as that, I'm afraid. But relax; there is only a small trial to pass, then the new era awaits.
She gestures to an all-too-familiar mask sitting silently on the table.
Ms. Grace: You may feel a little disoriented, but your body will be in no danger.
Hesitant Guest: So, if we all put on these masks, then this nightmare will be over?
Desperate Guest: Things can't get any worse than they are now, can they? Give me the mask!
Scared Child: sob
Ms. Grace: O, lost lambs, this will be the bravest leap you've ever taken over the fence.
Sonetto turns to the crowd.
Sonetto: Please, everyone. Don't fall for her lies!
Sonetto: She doesn't offer you salvation, but slavery! Don't give up your free will!
Regulus: Listen to her! We've got to be free to choose for ourselves!
Regulus: Rock, blues, classical, or heavy metal—it doesn't matter! Each of us is our own melody! The Manus will take that from you!
Ulrich: It's our turn, Timekeeper.
Ulrich: I'm at your command!
Vertin: Alright. Our priority is to bring the guests back to their senses.

The guests remain in turmoil as the believers and skeptics argue among one another.
Fear and confusion quickly spread through them, like ink in water, and soon ...
Trial Taker I: Haha! I did it! I put on the mask!
Trial Taker II: I-I'm saved!
Trial Taker II: Thank you, thank you, Ms. Grace!
Forsaken I: It hurts! It hurts so much.
Forsaken II: Help ... roar
Sonetto: We can't let more of these people give in to their fears!
Her voice is almost entirely drowned out by the roaring crowd.
Kamuta: These stubborn outsiders must be silenced! Take them away!
Kamuta: Let our revenge begin with them!
Toa: For Nukutaeao!
Kamuta: Selone, take my troubled sister back to her room. The softness of her heart has clouded her judgment, just as her shell shows.
Selone: Chief ...
Black ink seems to stain every one of their faces.
The upheaval has engulfed the Nukutai along with countless other innocents.
Child: Mum, I wanna go home.
Grieving Mother: Just think of something happy, sweetheart.
Grieving Mother: Remember that toy your dad bought you? It's waiting for you at home. We'll be there soon. Just put this on. We'll be there soon.
Trembling, the mother slowly lowers the mask to her child's face.
Barcarola: No!
Barcarola lunges forward, knocking the Manus mask out of her hand.
Ms. Grace: I don't believe your job description permits you to interrupt our guests, does it, Ms. Barcarola?
Barcarola: I don't understand, Captain Grace. Why are you letting this happen? Why are you doing this?
Grace carefully picks up the still-humming mask and brushes off the dust. She steps forward.
Ms. Grace: Cheer up, dear girl. Hold that chin up high. Now that's the spirit, the brightest star of the "Free Breeze" forever and always.
Ms. Grace: Just take a look. Your loyal fans are waiting for your next show.
Ms. Grace: Won't you play some of those beautiful melodies for them again?
Barcarola: But Ms. Grace, what do you mean by the "Storm" and diseases of the world, and this new era?
Ms. Grace: Oh, it's all so much simpler than you think, Ms. Barcarola.
Ms. Grace: In the new era, all that you hated in this time will vanish, as if it had never been there at all.
Ms. Grace: The "City of Violins" you swore you'd never return to will soon be forgotten, washed away in the coming "Storm."
Ms. Grace: Your wish will come true. You'll never need return to it. You couldn't even if you tried.
Barcarola: Never again?
Memories of her home return to her as if she were there just yesterday.
The towering bell tower of the cathedral, the creaking footbridges of the dock, the Cremona Music Festival competitor list that never displayed her name, and the distant scent of torta and risotto.
She has been far away from that world for so long, yet there before her eyes, she sees it again: the report card scribbled with red ink soaring on the wind.
Ms. Grace: What was it you said about that rotten little town? The monotony of sound, the disappointment of those old fossils and their little worlds—is that right?
Barcarola: Yes. I said I never, never wanted to go back.
Ms. Grace: Now, keep your hand steady this time, my dear. You must be certain.
Cold metal meets Barcarola's hand, jolting her back to reality.
Her trembling hand reaches for her peculiar, silent instrument. She cradles it in her arms.
Barcarola: My Crackling Box.
The familiar texture of the adhesive holding it together reassures her. She runs her fingers over it before greedily moving on to the rest.
Then, in the intricate structure of the instrument she created, she finds all the pieces of that familiar thing.
A fingerboard, strings, a sound post, a bridge, tuning pegs ...
A violin.
Barcarola: No!
A sudden warmth bursts forth within her, urging her to push the mask aside.