Mara checked her own record. Her NEC was 0000. But beneath, in a hidden field her admin access shouldn’t have shown, was a date stamp:
Mara dug deeper.
She started with . “Responsible for decoding non-human-origin acoustic patterns in deep hydrophone arrays.” Non-human. Not “foreign.” Not “enemy.” Non-human. navy nec manual
“Diving operations below crush depth without hard suit. Requires genetic screening for pressure-adapted hemoglobin variant.” Below crush depth. No hard suit. That meant the sailor became the hull.
Previous NEC: ––– – Designated Observer. Observation log: 2024-03-12 – USS Cyclops (simulated), final voyage of PO2 Thorne. Current status: memory wipe incomplete. Fluctuation detected. Mara checked her own record
Mara found a single photograph: a woman in dungarees, standing next to a man in a 1943 uniform. Her nametag read WILLIAMS, 2024 . The caption: “NEC 9910, det. Aleutian, post-repair.”
New line, under Obsolete :
The manual fell from her hands. Outside her window, Norfolk Naval Station was quiet. But her reflection—it didn’t turn when she did. It just smiled, salt water weeping from its eyes, and mouthed: “Welcome back, Observer.”