Departure and Discovery.

Narrator: Three hours later all the preparations for getting underway had been finished. Sarah and Fiona stood atop the sail looking out at the dock when a black sedan pulled up with three stars. Admiral Cain got out and Sarah and Fiona saluted which was returned by Celeste. Sarah nodded and Fiona gave the order to slip the ropes.

Commander Fiona White: Fiona watched the dock lines splash into oily water. *Her knuckles whitened on the railing.* "Secure mooring stations. Take us out slow and silent, Helm." Below, sailors scurried like rats abandoning ship.

Capt Sarah Roberts: Sarah gripped the periscope mount as the Hydra slid backward. *Admiral Cain stood frozen dockside, her raised hand a pale flag against dark asphalt.* "Engage ultra-quiet maneuvering. Fiona? Prep the towed array immediately."

Commander Fiona White: Fiona slammed shut the sail hatch, sealing them in humming steel. *Her knuckles brushed Sarah's sleeve.* "Towed array deploying... now." She tapped her headset. "*Sonar Shack? Report flow noise.*" Static crackled like frying wire.

Narrator: Thrumming silence answered – not submarine quiet, but vacuum silence. *The deck plates ceased vibrating.* They dived just outside the break water and the navigator Lt commander Helen Lathe set them om the correct course.

Lt Cmdr Helen Lathe: *Helen's fingers danced over navigation screens, plotting vectors through Luzon Strait.* "Course set skipper, 220 meters depth."

Capt Sarah Roberts: Sarah watched the depth gauge needles tremble. *The coordinates Celeste gave burned like acid in her memory.*

Commander Fiona White: Fiona stared at the sonar repeater. "Flow noise: nil," she whispered. *The headphones hissed like dead airspace.*

Capt Sarah Roberts: "Sonar report contacts."

Pty Officer Gina Carr: *Gina's knuckles tightened on her console.* ""No contacts Ma'am"

Capt Sarah Roberts: "Cmdr Lathe how long before we get to the last known position of the Eisenhower carrier group."

Lt Cmdr Helen Lathe: *Helen tapped calculations onto her console, the glow casting shadows across her tense jaw.* "Eight hours at quiet speed, skipper."

Capt Sarah Roberts: Sarah's fingers dug into the chilled metal railing overhead. "Make it six." *The coordinates screamed louder in her skull – that greasy-pencil scrawl, those dissolving flecks.*

Narrator: Hydra plunged deeper, pressure hull groaning like old bones. The crew moved in tense silence, avoiding eye contact as chem-suited torpedo crews sealed bulkheads. Fluorescent lights flickered, casting dancing shadows that mimicked the thermal blooms from Celeste's scans.

Narrator: Six hours crawled by, each minute thick with ozone tension. Sarah paced control – five steps port, five steps starboard – while Fiona monitored sonar. Suddenly, Gina's console lit like fireworks. *

Pty Officer Gina Carr: "Ma'am we are picking up surface contacts bearing 190 degrees twenty nautical miles."

Capt Sarah Roberts: Sarah's hand seized Gina's shoulder as the console bloomed crimson contacts like arterial spray across tactical screens. *Mouth dry*, she rasped: "Classify?"

Pty Officer Gina Carr: "I t looks like the carrier group Ma'am."

Capt Sarah Roberts: Sarah leaned in, her knuckles bleaching white against Gina's console. "Confirm hull signatures," *she hissed,* the air thick with ozone sweat and hydraulic fluid. Outside viewports showed nothing but liquid ink.

Pty Officer Gina Carr: *Gina's fingers trembled over acoustic filters.* "USS Eisenhower transponder positively identified... but propulsion signatures are dead silent." *Her pupils dilated.* "Skipper, no engine noise. They're drifting."

Capt Sarah Roberts: "Raise the esm mast lefts see if there is any output."

Narrator: Gina flipped switches, activating electronic surveillance systems. Hydra's mast pierced the black water, sensors hunting for radio emissions or radar pulses. The control room held its breath – even torpedo crews paused mid-motion, chem-suits rustling like dried leaves.

Narrator: Seconds stretched into minutes, the only sound Gina's frantic typing. Her console remained eerily dark – no flicker of signals, no radar echoes. Just... void. Outside, bioluminescent jellyfish pulsed like dying stars against infinite black. The silence thickened.

Pty Officer Gina Carr: *Gina's voice cracked.* "Zero emissions, skipper. Not even emergency beacons." She slammed her fist against the console. "It's like they're... ghosts."

Capt Sarah Roberts: "Raise periscope Fiona."

Commander Fiona White: Fiona hauled the optics mast upward, its motors whining softly. *Her knuckles whitened on the handles.* "Visual acquisition... Jesus." *She recoiled.* "Eyes only, skipper. You need to see this."

Narrator: Sarah looked through the scope and saw the entire carrier group in perfect formation. There was no sign of attack on the hulls also no signs of life. Planes stood ready on the deck ready for launch.

Capt Sarah Roberts: "Lets get an air sample"

Narrator: Sarah's knuckles whitened on the periscope grips. She gestured to Fiona, who tapped coordinates into the atmospheric sampler controls - a whisper-quiet drone ascending toward the silent fleet above.

Narrator: The sample probe pierced the surface like a steel needle. Back aboard Hydra, chemical analysers hissed awake, chromatograph lights flickering green then amber. Fiona stared at readouts showing oxygen-nitrogen ratios... nothing abnormal in the sample.

Capt Sarah Roberts: Sarah peeled off her gloves. *The lab report's mundanity pricked suspicion.* "No chemical anomalies?" *Her fingers drummed Celeste's crumpled note – 'Not water' screaming louder than silence.* "Prep a boarding team. Fiona? You're point."

Commander Fiona White: Fiona snapped chem-hood seals. *The hydraulic hiss echoed her tension.* "Alpha squad: hazmat protocols level alpha." Belowdecks, boots scrambled like cockroaches fleeing light. "What's our play, skipper? Search for logs? Survivors?"

Narrator: Sarah watched Fiona's boarding team assemble – faceless in mirrored visors, breather packs humming with recycled air. Thermal scans showed the Eisenhower's bridge utterly dark. *A chill crept up Sarah's spine despite the sub's recycled warmth.*

Narrator: Hydra surfaced just enough so that the six crew boarding party could get into the dinghy. Sarah watched from the control room through the periscope as the dinghy made its way to the Eisenhower.

Narrator: Fiona's boarding team climbed the carrier's silent hull like ants on a carcass. Sarah tracked them through infrared – six heat signatures creeping across deserted flight decks. Their first encounter was the empty uniforms strewn around the deck.

Capt Sarah Roberts: Sarah tapped Fiona's comms channel. *Her thumbnail dug into Celeste's crumpled coordinates.* "Status?" Static hissed like steam escaping a coffin.

Commander Fiona White: Fiona's voice crackled through speakers – brittle, metallic. "*Empty uniforms... scattered everywhere.*" A pause filled only by respirator wheezes. "*Not a scratch on them. Just... fabric filled with dust.*"

Capt Sarah Roberts: Sarah gripped the console's edge. *Celeste's 'dissolves organic matter' echoed.* "Avoid contact. Proceed to bridge." *Outside, bioluminescent plankton swirled like forgotten constellations.*

Commander Fiona White: Fiona's boot nudged an intact captain's uniform – epaulets gleaming beneath helmet lamps. "*Uniforms... still warm,*" she transmitted, static scratching her disbelief. Her gloved finger traced dust patterns where a body should've been. "*This isn't decay. It's... evaporation.*"

Narrator: Hydra's control room air thickened. Gina flinched as Fiona's microphone caught a wet crunch – her team stepping through ankle-deep powder where sailors once stood. Sarah's knuckles bleached white around the intercom, Celeste's "dissolves organic matter" looping like a cursed mantra.

Narrator: Three hours later the whole Eisenhower had been searched from stem to stern and all they found was empty uniforms. The odd thing was sixty uniforms had no dust and when Fiona checked the Eisenhower crew list they all belonged to female crew.

Commander Fiona White: Fiona's boot crushed brittle dust near the ship's galley as her helmet lamp illuminated a pristine lieutenant's uniform draped over a chair – nameplate untouched. "*Skipper... every preserved uniform is female-corps design,*" she transmitted, static tearing her breath. "*No dust inside. Like they... stepped out moments ago.*" Her glove hovered over untouched scrambled eggs congealing on a plate.

Capt Sarah Roberts: Sarah's fist tightened on the intercom until tendons screamed. *Sixty ghosts.* "Retrieve logs. Prioritize encrypted drives." *Her eyes flicked to Gina's station.* "Status? Any signs?"

Pty Officer Gina Carr: "Nothing Ma'am."

Narrator: Fiona's next report explained alot. The nuclear reactor was shutdown. Not just shut down but it had no fissionable material in it. There were no signs of leaking radiation. Something had sucked out everything from the reactor.

Narrator: Sarah stared through the periscope, the Eisenhower's silent flight deck mocking her. Sixty empty uniforms stared back. Outside, the Pacific wind moaned through the carrier’s superstructure like a mourning widow.

Capt Sarah Roberts: "Comms get a message off to Comsubpac. and detail our findings."

Narrator: The radio operator's fingers flew across encrypted channels, transmission pulses swallowed by the ocean's depths. Sarah's gaze lingered on Fiona's tiny heat signature retreating toward Hydra – a lone spark returning from the dead city above. *The untouched uniforms haunted her vision: sixty silent questions grinning through dust.*

Narrator: They received a reply from San Diego from admiral Cain.

Narrator: Admiral Cain appeared on the comm video screen. She looked more tired than before.

Narrator: "Sarah...do you agree that we can send out new crews for the ships. We will also send out sea going tugs to bring the fleet in."

Capt Sarah Roberts: Sarah stabbed the "mute" button, knuckles white against steel. *The thought of fresh crews walking into those dust-filled uniforms made her gut churn.* "Negative, Admiral," her voice cut sharp as sonar pings. "Recommend quarantine sphere until we identify the dissolution agent." Through the video feed, she saw Celeste's jaw tighten.

Admiral Celeste Cain: Celeste leaned closer, her face pixelating on the screen. "Sarah, that's three billion dollars' worth of hardware drifting unmanned." Her finger tapped frantic morse against her desk – *danger, danger*. "We have teams prepped with Level IV bio suits standing by."

Capt Sarah Roberts: Sarah's thumbnail dug into Celeste's crumpled coordinates paper until grease pencil smeared her skin. "Admiral whatever happened it only destroyed the male members of the crew. The female uniforms were just empty with no signs of residual matter."

Admiral Celeste Cain: Celeste froze mid-sentence, coffee mug suspended halfway to her lips. *The mug's ceramic scraped sharply against her desk.* "Male-exclusive dissolution?" Her knuckles whitened around the receiver. "Christ Sarah, that changes everything. Stand by for new orders."