PROJECT: CAYRO

Cayro Bracton:

September 4, 2025

19:00 CST

The Autumn

Fifty miles off the coast of Texas and Mexico

It had been a week since Doctor Zaraki had come aboard, and Team SAF had been bustling with activity, making six different stops between Texas and Mexico to run shipments and keep the coffers full. I had been so caught up in the tedious work of inventorying the shipments, making sure everything was where it needed to be, that Star and I barely had any time together. By the time I finished my duties, I was so drained that I would collapse onto my bed, my body surrendering to exhaustion the moment my head hit the pillow. Inventory work… it was the bane of my existence.

Our last stop had been in Galveston, Texas, where we picked up food and supplies to keep the Autumn stocked. With all the shipments, the crew had managed to pull in almost one and a half million dollars, a sum that would be funneled into a secure account in Sweden. From there, each crew member would receive a generous share, distributed into personal accounts linked to the primary one. The Captain had pulled me aside earlier in the week to hand me my own charge card for the account he had opened in my name. He walked me through the process of logging into the account through the Autumn’s secure network.

When I saw the balance in my account after just a week’s worth of work, my jaw practically hit the floor—twenty-five thousand U.S. dollars. That was as much as I had managed to save back in Virginia over the years, now sitting in my account like it was nothing. The Captain had advised me to leave my old savings untouched; accessing it could tip off the federal government that I was no longer in Virginia. It was strange to think of my old life as something I had to hide from now, but it made sense. It wasn’t like I could just go back and withdraw it without risking exposure.

I began to understand why Team SAF could continue living the way they did. Transporting high-end goods at low costs was a goldmine. With the ship’s coffers replenished, the Captain decided it was time to blow off some steam. He took the Autumn fifty miles out over the Gulf of Mexico, and we touched down on the ocean’s surface, turning the ship into a floating paradise. Everyone was given time off to fish, sky-board, or just relax. Finally, I had a chance to spend time with Star. I found her sitting in her sky-car, laptop in hand, reconfiguring the interface—a project we had just finished repairing a couple of days ago.

“Hey,” I greeted her as I approached.

“Hi,” she replied, her fingers dancing across the touch screen.

“Why are you working? Don’t you want to relax and hang out on the flight deck?” I asked, leaning against the car’s frame as I watched her work.

“I’ve never gone fishing, and this… this is relaxing for me. The Captain knows I like to do my own thing when we have downtime,” she explained, turning to meet my gaze.

“Well, do you want any help?” I offered, a small smile creeping onto my face.

A smile touched her lips, a subtle acknowledgment that she’d been hoping to spend some time with me too.

“Sure,” she said, her voice softening.

I walked around to the passenger side door and climbed into the co-pilot seat, ready to join her in whatever this "relaxation" entailed.

“For some reason, the pitch is off, so I have to compensate for the error. It’s really irritating, and I’m trying to get it back in alignment,” Star explained, her tone laced with frustration. I gave her a puzzled look, not quite understanding what she meant.

“But the computer says the pitch is still within tolerance,” I pointed out, glancing at the readouts on the co-pilot console.

“The computer doesn’t feel what I feel when I fly. The pitch is not quite right, so as far as I’m concerned, it’s out of tolerance, and I’m going to fix it,” she responded, her stubbornness shining through.

“Okay then,” I replied, deciding not to argue. It was clear she knew what she was talking about. “So, you’ve never gone fishing?” I asked, changing the subject.

“Nope,” she chimed back without missing a beat, her focus still on the screen in front of her.

“How long have you lived on the Autumn again?” I asked, more to keep the conversation going than because I didn’t remember. I watched her deftly make adjustments to the controls, curious about her life aboard the ship.

“I already told you… Since I was six. Right after the Captain abandoned the military. This has been my home,” she explained, finally looking up from her display to meet my gaze. There was a flicker of concern in her eyes, reminding me of the conversation we’d had in the hangar bay, where she had mentioned that this ship was the only place she had ever called home.

“I was just asking because fishing seems to be something the crew enjoys doing, and it surprises me that you’ve never tried it,” I clarified, trying to make sense of it.

“I just never found it interesting,” she said with a slight shrug.

“Oh…” was all I could manage. The more I learned about Star, the more I realized how different our upbringings were.

She finally finished the calibrations and looked over at me. “Do you want to go out for a test flight?” she asked, her voice carrying a hint of excitement.

“Sure,” I agreed, knowing that I didn’t have much else to do since my skyboard had been destroyed in the dogfight. We prepped her sky-car for launch, moving it onto the hangar elevator. I radioed the bridge to request permission to launch. To my surprise, it was the Captain who responded instead of Desiree.

“What’s the purpose of the launch, Cayro?” he asked, his tone clipped with irritation.

“Star wants to go for a test flight now that we’ve finished reconfiguring her sky-car controls,” I explained, hoping he would allow it.

“It will have to wait until later. You and Star need to report to the Doctor as soon as possible,” the Captain ordered, his voice leaving no room for negotiation.

“But Captain!” Star blurted out, her frustration evident.

“Don’t ‘but’ me, Star. You heard what I said. Go see your father,” the Captain responded firmly.

Star let out a long sigh, her shoulders slumping in defeat. She moved her sky-car back into its designated spot without another word, her earlier enthusiasm completely deflated. I could see how disappointed she was—she had been looking forward to this flight, probably as much as I had. But orders were orders, and we didn’t have a choice.

We walked side by side in silence as we made our way to find the Doctor. Star’s mood was palpable, and I didn’t dare break the quiet with idle chatter. When we reached his office next to the infirmary, we knocked, but there was no answer. The office was empty.

“Maybe he’s in his quarters,” Star muttered, more to herself than to me. We headed to the living quarters, but the Doctor wasn’t there either. As we stood in the empty room, Casey, the ship’s chief engineer, walked by.

“Hey, have you seen the Doctor?” I asked.

Casey shook his head. “No clue where he is. Haven’t seen him all morning,” he replied, looking as puzzled as we were.

Casey, the ship’s chief engineer, was a wiry man, not much taller than me, with short black hair and sharp, calculating eyes. His nose had a slight crook, as if it had been broken once, and a faint scar traced across his right cheek. He always had a wild story about how he got that scar, though the details seemed to change every time he told it. Despite his lean build, Casey walked around the ship with an attitude that screamed he was larger than life. That was, of course, until Desiree put him in his place, knocking him down a peg or two. I had no doubt there was a simmering rivalry between them. They might share dinner together, but when it came to ship operations, it was all-out war. Their constant bickering was a source of endless amusement for me, though I’d never admit it out loud.

As we walked past the galley, something caught my eye through the windows. I stopped short, and Star did too, following my gaze. Through the glass, we saw the Doctor stepping through the vault door—the very same door the Captain had strictly ordered never to open. The sight of it ajar made my stomach twist. The chairs that had once been stacked haphazardly in front of the door were now neatly re-stacked near the kitchen. Something felt off.

“There you are,” the Doctor said as we entered the galley. “It’s about time.”

“Hi, Father,” Star replied, her voice tinged with annoyance.

“Afternoon, Doctor,” I greeted with a quick nod, trying to keep my tone neutral.

The Doctor’s face fell when he heard me. “Honey, how many times do I have to tell you? Just call me Dad. The formal designation makes me feel old,” he whined, looking almost wounded. Star met his gaze with a blank stare, her expression unmoved. After a moment, he sighed in resignation, accepting that he wasn’t going to win this battle. She’d been giving him the cold shoulder ever since he came aboard, and though I didn’t know why, I planned to find out later.

“So, you two are probably wondering why you’re here and not out doing something fun?” The Doctor asked, trying to lighten the mood.

Star’s scowl deepened, and she remained silent, while the Doctor glanced at me, seeking some sort of support. When neither of us responded, he continued, undeterred.

“Hmm… Tough crowd. Are you at least curious why the vault is open?” He asked, as if daring us to challenge him, knowing full well he was going against the Captain’s orders.

“No,” Star answered curtly, her voice dripping with irritation before I could even open my mouth.

The Doctor looked as if she had slapped him. He blinked, taken aback by her hostility. “Okay, fine,” he sighed, the defeat in his voice palpable.

He was about to say more when the sound of the Captain’s footsteps echoed through the galley. We all turned as he walked in, his presence filling the room.

“Good, they found you,” the Captain said, his tone brisk as he approached us.

“Yes, but I have a distinct feeling I’m on my daughter’s bad side right now. She’s being stubborn, just like her mother,” the Doctor explained, casting a sidelong glance at Star, who continued to glare daggers at him.

“Star… What’s wrong?” the Captain asked, his voice softer, more concerned.

Star responded with a grunt, turning her back to him and facing me instead. Her expression shifted, and I could see the corners of her mouth twitch upwards into a small, sly smile. A chill ran down my spine. That look meant trouble—mischief was brewing, and it was clear she was planning something that I was now unwittingly a part of.

The Captain noticed the shift in her demeanor and looked to me for an explanation. “Any idea why she’s acting like this, Cayro?” he asked, his brow furrowed.

“No idea,” I replied with a shrug, feigning ignorance. I knew exactly why she was irritated with the Captain, but as for her father, I was just as clueless as he was.

Star’s grin widened, and I felt another shiver of unease. I knew her well enough to recognize when she was plotting something, and whatever it was, it was likely going to be directed at her father. The memory of her nearly lethal wrench tosses flashed through my mind. If she was planning payback, it wasn’t going to be pretty.

“Oh, come on, Star, don’t be like this,” the Captain pleaded, his tone softening. “I know you wanted to go out and fly, but this is important. The Doctor needs you to cooperate.”

She turned to him, her glare losing some of its edge, but she still looked far from happy.

“I promise, once you’re done with the Doctor, you and Cayro can go flying,” he added, hoping to placate her.

“Okay,” she growled, finally conceding, though the irritation in her voice was still evident.

“Well, that was easy,” the Doctor exclaimed, his tone too cheerful for the tense atmosphere.

Star’s glare snapped back to him, her eyes blazing with unspoken anger. That sent another wave of unease through me. The Doctor might think he’d won, but I knew better. Whatever Star was planning, it was only a matter of time before she unleashed it, and I had a feeling it wasn’t going to be pleasant for him.

The Doctor shrugged off Star's glare with a casual indifference that suggested he was used to her temper. He turned and walked into the vault, which was now clearly more than just a storage room. The Captain moved towards the intercom with a sense of purpose.

“Nick, divert power to the cybernetics lab,” he ordered, his voice carrying a weight that hinted at the importance of what was about to happen.

I shot the Captain a puzzled look at the mention of a cybernetics lab. The words hung in the air, unsettling. What exactly did that entail? My thoughts raced as I followed him with my eyes, trying to piece together what this meant.

“Come here, you two,” the Captain beckoned, his tone leaving no room for hesitation.

Star and I exchanged a quick glance before following him towards the vault entrance—or, as I now understood, the cybernetics lab. As we stepped inside, the LED lights flickered to life, casting a cold, sterile glow over the room. The lab was filled with an array of sophisticated electronics, many of which I couldn’t begin to comprehend. It was a far cry from anything I had ever seen, and the unfamiliarity of the equipment only added to the eerie atmosphere.

Near the entrance, the Doctor had already taken his seat at a workstation, his fingers deftly moving across the controls. But what really drew my attention were the two monolithic lockers at the back of the lab. They stood ominously, towering over everything else in the room. Each locker appeared to be constructed from thick steel or aluminum, their surfaces cold and unyielding, with large rotating grab handles sealing them shut.

My eyes were drawn to the labels on the lockers. The one on the left was marked “Bracton-5522,” and the one on the right bore the name “Zaraki-0117.” The sight of my name on that locker made my stomach twist. This was getting more intense by the second, and I wasn’t sure I was ready to know what was inside.

I tried to shake off the unease as I continued to scan the room. In the center stood a stainless-steel operating table, surrounded by an array of medical devices. The lab felt more like a scene out of a dystopian sci-fi movie than a place where I was supposed to be standing. The whole setup was unsettling, and the hairs on the back of my neck prickled with a sense of foreboding.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the Captain reach into his pocket and pull out the C Drive. The small device seemed to carry the weight of the world as he handed it over to the Doctor.

“Here you go, Doc,” he said, his tone clipped and formal.

“Thank you, Drew,” the Doctor replied, placing the drive on the workstation without missing a beat.

I could practically hear the Captain grinding his teeth at the use of that nickname.

“You know, Drew, it’s not good to grind your teeth,” the Doctor commented with a smirk, not even bothering to look up.

I guess I wasn’t the only one who noticed.

The Captain’s jaw tightened, his expression darkening. “You know damn well I hate being called Drew,” he grumbled before abruptly turning on his heel and stalking out of the lab.

As the Captain disappeared down the corridor, it suddenly clicked why Star had such a mischievous streak. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree, it seemed.

“Big baby!” the Doctor called after him, his voice echoing in the sterile room.

Star shot her father a glare that could have frozen fire. The Doctor, realizing he had pushed too far, quickly clammed up. He stood from the workstation without another word and walked over to the large lockers at the back of the lab. I noticed for the first time the handprint scanners on each of the locker doors, identical to the one next to the main vault door that I had somehow missed earlier.

“Come here, Cayro,” the Doctor requested, his voice calm and even, though I could sense the tension in the air.

I hesitated, glancing at Star, who remained rooted in place, her eyes fixed on her father with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. Taking a deep breath, I slowly walked up to the Doctor, my steps feeling heavier with each pace.

“Don’t be scared, nothing is going to happen,” he reassured me, sensing my unease as I finally stood beside him.

“Place your left hand on the scanner, please,” he instructed, his voice taking on a more formal tone.

I lifted my hand, my movements feeling almost mechanical as I pressed my fingertips and palm against the cold glass of the scanner. The surface felt icy against my skin, sending a shiver down my spine. The scanner hummed to life, a sharp beep cutting through the silence as it processed my handprint. The sound of several loud knocks echoed from within the locker, making me jump slightly.

The scanner beeped again, and I felt the locker shift, as if something inside was responding to the scan. Whatever was in there, it was about to reveal itself.

“Okay, step back,” the Doctor instructed, his voice steady but tinged with an underlying tension. I did as he asked, moving back to where Star stood, her presence a steadying force amidst the swirl of my own apprehension.

As the reinforced door of the locker slowly swung open, a thick cloud of cold mist spilled out, filling the lab with an ethereal fog. The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees, and I could feel the chill even from where I stood. As the mist began to dissipate, the shape of something large and imposing took form within the locker.

My breath caught in my throat as I realized what I was looking at—a suit of armor, but not just any armor. This was something straight out of a futuristic dream, or perhaps a nightmare. The suit was sleek and all black, with a streamlined design that exuded both elegance and lethality. The helmet, with its reflective visor, glowed faintly with a blue hue, hinting at the advanced technology embedded within. The material covering the suit looked like carbon fiber but had an otherworldly sheen to it, as if it were woven from the fabric of some distant, alien future.

It felt almost surreal, standing there in front of what could only be described as a piece of science fiction brought to life. My jaw practically hit the floor as I took it all in, the sheer magnitude of what I was seeing overwhelming my senses.

“So, what do you think?” the Doctor asked, his voice cutting through the haze of my thoughts. There was a note of pride in his tone, as if he knew exactly how mind-blowing this moment was.

“What is it?” I managed to ask, my voice barely above a whisper, still grappling with the enormity of what stood before me.

“It’s a new form of body armor, designed specifically for you and Star,” he explained, his words both simple and profound.

I stared at him, my mind struggling to catch up with the implications of what he had just said. This armor—this incredible, high-tech suit—was meant for us? The idea seemed almost too big to wrap my head around.

“Star, come take a look,” the Doctor called out, beckoning her over.

I heard Star’s footsteps as she reluctantly approached, her demeanor cool and controlled. She looked the suit over, her eyes narrowing slightly as she took in the details.

“Father, are these the same suits that were brought aboard when I was twelve?” she asked, her voice low but clear, carrying an edge that made the Doctor pause.

“Yes, sweetheart, they are,” he replied, his tone softening as he addressed her.

She turned to face him fully, her expression unreadable but with a question burning in her eyes. “Yes?” he asked, sensing that she had more to say.

“That means these suits are older than six years old, and the electronics are obsolete, does it not?” she asked, her tone now sharp, cutting through the Doctor’s earlier pride like a knife.

The Doctor’s face fell, his pride giving way to shock. He looked almost wounded by her words. “Correct, it would mean that in most cases,” he agreed, his voice tinged with frustration. “But the hardware is one of a kind. It could be upgraded with new hardware if needed.”

Star didn’t respond. Instead, she simply turned and walked out of the lab, leaving her father standing there, speechless. I watched her leave, feeling a pang of confusion. Why was she so upset? What was it about this suit—or perhaps about her father—that had her reacting this way?

“Star, come back here!” the Doctor called after her, his voice tinged with both exasperation and hurt.

“No,” she growled back, her voice echoing down the corridor as she continued to walk away.

A heavy silence settled over the lab after she left, the tension palpable. I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was a lot more going on beneath the surface, something deep and unresolved between Star and her father. The Doctor turned to me, raising an eyebrow as if asking for some explanation I didn’t have.

“Are you still interested in hearing about the suit?” he asked, his voice patient but carrying a sadness that hadn’t been there before.

“Sure,” I replied, more out of a desire to fill the awkward silence than anything else. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him, left standing there, clearly hurt by his daughter’s coldness.

He began to explain the suit in detail, diving into the layers and technology that made it so special. The outer layer, he told me, was a weave of titanium and carbon fiber, reinforced with nanobot technology that could repair minor damage and adapt to various environments. Beneath that was a Kevlar layer embedded with molded ceramic plating, designed to provide maximum protection while maintaining flexibility.

But what really caught my attention was the electronic system that linked directly to the implants in my body. This was no ordinary suit of armor—it was designed to work in perfect harmony with the augmentations that had been done to me, enhancing my abilities and allowing me to interface with the suit’s systems through thought alone. The innermost layer was made of a neural bio-gel, which not only regulated body temperature but also served as a medium for interfacing with the suit’s electronics.

He went on to describe the small fusion reactor built into the backplate, similar to the power sources used in the skyboards, but on a much more advanced level. This reactor powered the entire suit, including a sophisticated onboard computer that managed everything from flight capabilities to weapons targeting, communications, and a host of other systems. The neural interface allowed for thought-controlled operations, making the suit an extension of the wearer’s mind and body. And then there was the voice control system, another layer of sophistication that made the suit feel even more like something out of a dream—or a nightmare.

However, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the suit’s computing hardware would soon see an upgrade, especially after Star pointed out its obsolescence. Something about the outer material nagged at me, stirring a sense of déjà vu. As I examined the sleek surface, it clicked—I'd seen this material before. The suit’s outer layer was eerily similar to the titanium carbon fiber alloy used in some of the highest-end skyboards.

The Doctor continued, explaining the suit's design, including a set of anchors that folded away into the back plate. These anchors were specifically designed to interface with a specialized skyboard, giving the suit flight capabilities far beyond what a standard skyboard could offer. It was clear that this wasn’t just a suit of armor; it was an entire system, built for survival and combat in the most extreme conditions. The final feature he mentioned was the life support system, which allowed the suit to function even in zero atmosphere environments.

As the Doctor spoke, I couldn’t help but feel a growing sense of awe mixed with trepidation. This suit was incredible, a marvel of technology and design. But it was also a reminder of the path I was on, a path that was becoming increasingly difficult to turn away from.

“So, what do you think, Cayro?” Dr. Zaraki asked, a note of pride swelling in his voice as he waited for my reaction.

“Doctor, some of these materials look familiar to me,” I responded, leaning in to examine the suit’s outer layer more closely.

“That’s probably because the titanium carbon fiber alloy is the same material used by SkyTeam Aerospace Foundation to build the inner structures of their high-end skyboards and the airframes for their airship line,” he explained, his tone brightening as he shared this bit of technical trivia.

The realization hit me like a freight train. “Are you saying these suits were built by SkyTeam Aerospace Foundation?” I asked, my mind racing to connect the dots.

Dr. Zaraki tilted his head slightly, as if considering how best to phrase his response. “In a way, yes. If you consider the fact that I am the owner of SkyTeam Aerospace Foundation, and that I’m the one who personally designed and built these suits,” he said casually, as if discussing the weather.

I stared at him, trying to process the magnitude of what he had just revealed. The man standing in front of me wasn’t just a doctor—he was the owner of one of the most innovative aerospace companies in the world, the company that had practically invented skyboarding.

“I’m not sure I heard you correctly, Doctor,” I said, needing to hear the confirmation one more time. “Did you just say you are the owner of SkyTeam Aerospace Foundation?”

“That is correct,” he replied, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips.

I felt the room tilt slightly as I tried to steady my thoughts. The pieces were starting to fall into place, but it was almost too much to take in. I was standing in front of the man responsible for creating the sport that had shaped much of my life, the man who had also designed the ship I was now living on. It was overwhelming.

“Tell me something, Doctor… Did my father build this ship?” I asked, the question slipping out as my thoughts spiraled.

Dr. Zaraki’s expression shifted from one of pride to a mix of frustration and bemusement. “Not in a cold chance in hell,” he replied, his voice tinged with irritation. “I designed and built this ship. Your father might have developed the project and the procedures to create superhumans, but I built the hardware—the ship, the systems, everything physical you see here. Your father was the genius behind the software, the bioware, and the bioengineering. I was the brains behind the hardware he needed.”

“The Captain mentioned once before that my dad built this ship,” I said, my confusion deepening.

Dr. Zaraki let out a sigh, his patience clearly wearing thin. “No, your father built the software for this ship—software that even I haven’t been able to replicate. Don’t get me wrong, in a sense, this is your father’s ship because I had to design it around his specifications. So, in a way, this ship is yours. Granted, the military paid for it, but due to the power it possesses and its connections with other governments, the military can’t take it back. The Autumn is, however, a SkyTeam Aerospace Foundation platform. In fact, several ships built by SkyTeam Aerospace were based on the substructure of this ship. The Autumn is the predecessor to the Reaper-class air destroyers that several countries use today.”

I blinked, trying to absorb the information. “But there are no other ships that look anything like the Autumn,” I stated, still trying to reconcile what I was hearing with what I knew.

“Of course not. The Autumn was a prototype, and I personally made sure that all documents related to this ship were either destroyed or hidden on board,” Dr. Zaraki explained as I found a chair to sit in. The weight of his revelations was pressing down on me, and I needed a moment to process everything.

He continued, “You see, the three of us—your father, the Captain, and I—each played a crucial role in creating Team SAF. Now, keep in mind that Team SAF and SkyTeam Aerospace Foundation are two separate entities. SkyTeam Aerospace was created solely to support Team SAF. It was a front for developing the technology we needed for the project. All the technology that SkyTeam has created stems from the research the three of us conducted. In fact, Andrew and I hold two-thirds of the company’s assets, which we made untraceable by the U.S. Government. After your father’s death, his assets were sold to an unknown buyer. Whoever it was remains untraceable but continues to support SkyTeam.”

Dr. Zaraki paused, letting the gravity of his words sink in before continuing. “Back to my original point. We all had a hand in creating the team that you and Star were supposed to be a part of. Each of us had individual projects. Your father, as you know, handled the bulk of the medical side and the implants that are in you and Star. I created the combat suits, the skycar, and the Autumn. Andrew, who has a love for surfing, developed the skyboard. What was originally intended to be a tactical vehicle for the team ended up becoming a popular sport worldwide.”

I tried to piece together everything he was saying. “So, you and Captain Clark own SkyTeam, but SkyTeam isn’t a part of Team SAF. Then what does Team SAF stand for, and why is Team SAF logo so similar to SkyTeam Aerospace Foundation’s?”

“Correct,” Dr. Zaraki confirmed, nodding. “Originally, Team SAF stood for Strategic Action Force Command. Now it’s just Team SAF—nothing more. Captain Clark dropped the ‘C’ after they separated from the military. As for the logos, we wanted them to share similarities but also have distinct meanings. The diamond in both logos represents an arrow of light moving into the unknown future. In SkyTeam’s logo, the diamond is three-dimensional, symbolizing the foundation’s reach into the aerospace frontier, with the name wrapping around it. For the Team SAF logo, the diamond is encased in a cage, representing protection against the darkness—an arrow of light moving forward, shielded from the evil trying to break in. While the logos share elements, they represent different ideals.”

I furrowed my eyebrows, still grappling with the concept. “But wouldn’t it have made more sense to make them drastically different to avoid confusion?”

Dr. Zaraki chuckled softly, but there was a hint of something deeper in his voice. “Young Cayro, one day you’ll understand the secrets intertwined between Team SAF and SkyTeam, but now is not the time to unravel those mysteries.”

His cryptic response only added to the headache that was beginning to throb at my temples. Just as I was about to ask more questions, the Captain walked back into the lab, interrupting my thoughts.

“All right, Doc, the Autumn is ready,” he announced, his voice cutting through the haze of confusion in my mind. Then, turning to me, he asked, “Where did Star go?”

“She stormed off about ten minutes ago,” I replied, glancing over at the Doctor, who seemed unfazed by Star’s sudden departure.

The Captain sighed, clearly used to Star’s temper. “Cayro, go find her while Doc and I figure out how the C Drive fits into this conundrum we’ve got on our hands.”

“Huh… What?” I blurted out, not entirely following.

“Your father never told us how this device functioned,” the Captain explained, holding up the C Drive. “It’s been a long, drawn-out puzzle for us to solve. So, go find Star and wait for further instructions.”

I nodded, still dazed by everything that had been revealed, and headed out of the lab in search of Star, leaving the two men to wrestle with the mysteries left behind by my father.