Strawberry's Descent

The beach day had been Nettle's idea, insisted upon with such cheerful, unstoppable enthusiasm that nobody had bothered arguing — a full afternoon with no projects, no quests, no blueprints, just the crew scattered across a stretch of warm, quiet coastline while they waited for the submarine's final components to finish curing.

Bram and Petrov had claimed the shallows almost immediately, engaged in some increasingly elaborate competition involving skipping stones that had, within twenty minutes, evolved into an argument about optimal throwing angle that only the two of them found remotely interesting.

"Forty degrees," Petrov insisted, demonstrating with another stone that skipped four times before sinking. "Standard projectile optimum."

"That's for maximum distance," Bram said, already lining up his own throw. "We're going for skip count. Completely different angle."

Arista and Nettle had commandeered a modest stretch of sand for volleyball, the game considerably more chaotic than the sport technically demanded, Nettle's serves carrying a suspicious amount of spin that Arista suspected had less to do with athletic skill and more to do with some enchantment she hadn't properly inspected yet.

Fen and Claire lay stretched out nearby, a small, angled mirror propped beside Claire specifically to redirect sunlight more efficiently across both of them, an arrangement Fen had found genuinely delighted by once she'd understood the actual physics behind it.

Thoth sat at the tree line's edge, wings loosely folded, dish tilted toward the whole scene with quiet, patient attention — not participating exactly, but clearly, contentedly present.

Colm stood near the water's edge, close enough to feel the occasional splash of a wave against his ankles, but never stepping further in than that.

Arista noticed it first, catching her breath between volleyball rallies, watching him linger there for the third time that afternoon without ever actually entering the water.

"...Colm?" she called over. "You going in?"

"...In a bit," he said, the same answer he'd given twice already, not quite meeting her eyes.

Claire, propped up on one elbow near her sun mirror, studied the exchange for a moment, something clicking into place.

"...You can't swim," she said, not unkindly, more observation than accusation.

Colm went very still.

"...I never said that."

"You didn't need to," Claire said, gentle. "You've stood at that exact spot for twenty minutes, and every single time the water's gotten past your ankles, you've stepped back."

Colm's shoulders dropped slightly, caught. "...I've never really had the opportunity to learn. Where I grew up, we didn't have lakes or oceans nearby, nothing bigger than a stream. Besides, in real life, I always spent more time looking at maps than actually making them. And then once I joined this crew, I was always the one charting from above, the zeppelin, mostly. I've observed more ocean than I've actually touched."

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"...Is this your first time actually feeling the sea, then?" Arista asked, gentle. "Not counting the zeppelin."

Colm considered that honestly. "No. I saw it once before, in real life. I was maybe five or so. I don't remember much of it, just that it was cold, and considerably louder than I expected."

Claire sat up properly now, considering the problem with the same practical directness she brought to pressure calculations and pipe fittings.

"...Why don't you just learn now? Here?" She gestured at the calm, gentle shallows. "The physics engine in this game's proven remarkably consistent with real-world behavior, this entire project. If you learn to swim properly here, there's a genuine chance the muscle memory transfers to your actual body too. And even if it doesn't—" she shrugged, entirely reasonable "—this is about as safe a place as you'll ever find to try. Shallow, calm, no current, and an entire crew of people who care about you within arm's reach."

Colm sat with that, genuine consideration crossing his face for the first time.

Bram, overhearing from the shallows, abandoned his stone-skipping contest immediately, wading over with easy, unhurried confidence.

"...I'll teach you," he offered, simple and direct. "No pressure. We can start as shallow as you want."

Arista, dropping the volleyball entirely now, crossed over too, Nettle trailing behind with equal, genuine interest.

"...Why didn't you say something sooner?" Arista asked, gentle rather than accusing. "We're about to spend the next several months exploring an entire ocean. That's considerably relevant information."

"...I was going to manage," Colm admitted, sheepish. "As long as the submarine itself doesn't fail, I never actually need to touch the water at all."

"...And if it fails?" Arista asked, quiet, the question landing with more weight than either of them had probably intended.

Colm didn't have an answer for that one.

"...I didn't think it would actually come up as a problem," he admitted instead, considerably less sure of himself now than he'd been thirty seconds earlier.

"It's not a problem," Bram said, easy. "It's just something you haven't learned yet. Those aren't the same thing."

Colm looked at the small, patient crowd that had gathered around him — Bram already rolling up his sleeves, Arista and Nettle settling nearby with genuine, supportive attention, Claire watching from the shore with quiet satisfaction at having solved a problem before it became an actual crisis, Fen waving encouragingly from her towel, Thoth's dish tilted with careful, curious observation.

"...Okay," Colm said finally, something loosening in his chest. "Okay. Teach me."

Bram extended a hand, warm and steady. "Come on. Just to your knees first. We'll go as slow as you need."

Colm took the offered hand, stepping properly into the water for the first time all afternoon, the gentle waves lapping harmlessly around his calves.

"...This isn't so bad," he admitted, faintly surprised.

"That's knee-deep," Bram said, grinning. "Give it time."

Behind them, Nettle had already abandoned the volleyball entirely, wading in to help, and Arista followed close behind, the whole crew gathering loosely around him — not crowding, just present, patient, exactly the kind of quiet support that had carried this entire project from the very beginning.

By the time the sun began settling low over the water, Colm was floating properly on his back, arms spread, Bram's hand hovering nearby more out of habit than genuine necessity at this point.

"...I'm doing it," Colm said, disbelieving, staring up at the darkening sky. "I'm actually floating."

"You are," Arista confirmed, treading water nearby, grinning. "See? Not a brick at all."

"I fully expected to sink like one," Colm admitted, laughing despite himself.

"Everyone does, the first time," Claire called from the shore, satisfied, the day's real purpose having quietly revealed itself somewhere along the way. "Turns out you just needed the right afternoon, and the right people around you."

Colm floated there a while longer, weightless and unhurried, the whole crew scattered comfortably around him in the gentle evening water, and felt, for the first time in longer than he could properly remember, genuinely, completely unafraid of something he'd spent years quietly avoiding.

"...Thank you," he said, quiet, to nobody in particular and everybody at once.

"Anytime," Bram said, simple. "That's what we're here for."

Fen and Claire, finally packing up the sun mirror for good as the light faded, looked exactly as pale as they had at the start of the afternoon.