Captain Beauldegard was a big man, about 40 with a steel gray mustache that seemed to cover his lips like a gourmet platter top, the thick cookie duster of a brush in stark contrast to his shiny, bald head. His eyes were vivacious despite looking worn, though he liked to call them "experienced," not wanting to make people think of them as the eyes of an oftentimes stressed, insomniac commander, something he went to great pains to do, even wearing contacts to hide his bloodshot oculars.

It was with these eyes that he scanned the waters around his throne room, the bridge of the prototype Newton-class submersible battle destroyer. All around the symmetrical metaglass sphere was azure waters, specked in places by the tops of icebergs that reminded the captain of little peeping toms peering over a window sill, though he knew these were nowhere as benign as the innocent heads of mischievous urchins. These were the stuff that could rip twelve-foot-thick hull of the ship to shreds effortlessly, and avoiding these lethal daggers the bergs concealed under the veil of shadowy water was of extreme importance. Thankfully, the Squinting Scholar was equipped with all the radar and technology to detect even the most severe clusters of cyclopean icecubes, and its advanced steering system gave it the dexterity needed to circumnavigate anything in the water.

Or, at least, he hoped so. This was the maiden voyage of the Scholar, the very first real voyage its capabilities would be tested. So far, all that was known about it were the results of lab tests or mathematical formulas of probability. Scientifically speaking, the ship Beauldegard was commanding was the most advanced vessel even to be in the water, and it was intended to remain king of its class for years to come. But despite the boasting of scientists and admirals alike, men of theory and facts, the good captain still felt the pangs of unease, as if the ship was not as great as it seemed. His cautious disposition was only advanced by the sheer weight of the operation. If this mission failed, then two trillion dollars and ten thousand hardworking hands would have slaved away for nothing. It was a very heavy burden for him.

Finally, light at the distant horizon caught his eye. His objective was within reach. No..., he thought, in direct opposition to the usual emotions of a leader who's finish line was in sight. His disdain was because now, with the target coming fast, the ship's capabilities would have to be tested at last, something he dreaded immensely.

"Your orders, Captain?" his First Mate asked, the eager young man more daring and enthusiastic than his own, careful head would have liked.
"D-Decrease throttle," he stammered, wiping a beat of sweat from his brow before it became obvious. He waited a second before looking at the Mate, who still looked at him like a puppy waiting for a treat, expecting a second order. He nodded, confirming his order with a stiff nod. "Decrease the throttles, James."
The young Mate turned and relayed the order down to the turbine room, and the shop slowed down accordingly.

Then the horizon flashed. They were spotted.

The water around them splashed in a cascade of orange. The captain, however, ignored the frantic reaction of the Mate and took the helm himself, waving the man off. He wordlessly donned on a gun control helmet and activated the bridge shield array. This was business, and he wasn't going to leave the fate of the ship in the hands of wannabe heroes like the antsy officer next to him, who he disliked the moment he met him. He didn't even glance at him when he raised his left leg and gave the man a sharp kick of disdain, followed with the harsh words of "Shut up and leave, you daunged nitwit." The officer limped away, howling in pain both physical and mental.

"Now come closer to papa, you pesky nub," he said softly to the distant ship. He pressed a button on the wheel and a second later, a rocket fluttered overhead, a streaking red wake in its aft as it made a beeline for the faraway light. The explosion was more than satisfying as the warhead tore the vessel apart with the ease of a kerosene bomb in a hay barn.

Then another foreign missile darted past him. He cursed loudly as he turned around to see another vessel coming up on his side, much closer than the last ship. He cursed again, realizing he had neglected to look for it earlier. No matter, he though as he obliterated the craft with a second rocket. But now the radar screen was beeping wildly as several more objects appeared within scope, and the true threat was being realized. This was a trap, he muttered with scorn towards his superiors. This whole thing was a trap. To test this ship, they gave it the impossible. Dang them all!

Without thinking, his hand reached for the lever next to him, and instantly the marge ship began to descend into the marine unknown. With dread he observed the waves first lap at the deck of the ship, then consume it and drag it under, and his own crystalline realm soon felt the hungry lips of the water absorb it like a ravenous monster preying on some minuscule piece of plankton. He sweat profusely as he saw the dark blue abyss on all sides. It was all or nothing now, and he was going to go through an aquatic Hades in the next hour.

His nervous eyes sought something familiar in the vastness, but saw nothing. Suddenly, his ears picked up a strange clinking noise. His eyes went wide.

~EW~