Chapter 57 - Cold Steel and Compartments
Kael choked, blood spraying over his chest plate as the hydraulic power in his exoskeleton failed with a sputtering whine. He crashed to his knees, his heavy hands clawing at his throat before collapsing facedown onto the torn rugs of Julian Whitmore’s study.
Naomi dropped from his back, landing softly on the blood-slick floor. She was breathing heavily, her tactical vest torn, her wounded hand throbbing with blinding pain, but her eyes were steady.
Through the clearing steam, Clara slammed her right hand onto the glowing central terminal.
A blinding blue pulse erupted from the console. The computer's synthetic voice resonated throughout the entire vessel, overriding every alarm, every speaker, and every radio on the *Aethelgard*:
**[BIOMETRIC COMMAND CONFIRMED: SUPREME CONTROLLER CLARA WHITMORE.]**
**[ACCESS LEVEL: ABSOLUTE.]**
**[STANDING ORDERS REQUESTED.]**
"Clara," Ethan urged, his hands steadying her shoulders. "Say it. What Father wrote."
Clara swallowed the lump of terror in her throat. Looking at the screen, her voice rang clear and firm, carrying an authority she had never known she possessed:
"Initiate Protocol Clean Slate. Purge all Directorate databases, wipe the satellite links, and trigger vessel self-destruct."
The computer paused for half a second.
**[WARNING: CLEAN SLATE INITIATED. VESSEL PURGE COMMENCING IN 180 SECONDS.]**
**[BALLAST TANKS VENTING. STRUCTURAL FAILURE IMMINENT.]**
A deep, groaning shudder rolled through the submarine’s hull. The ship suddenly tilted downward at a sharp fifteen-degree angle as water flooded the forward ballast chambers. Unsecured chairs, books, and weapons skittered across the floor toward the forward bulkhead.
"We have three minutes to reach the aft escape pod!" Ethan yelled, grabbing Clara’s arm.
May you like
Naomi retrieved her carbine from the floor, slinging it over her shoulder. "The primary corridor is compromised. We take the secondary maintenance shaft. Move!"
***
