Chapter 91
I spread the schematics across the table, fingers tracing the crisp edges of the paper. The dim light in the room casts long shadows over the table as my mind reels, trying to grasp the gravity of what we’re looking at.
“These aren’t just any subs, Hiro. Each one is decked out with enough weapons to challenge an entire navy. Enigma has them stashed beneath the South Pacific facility. They’ve been building an arsenal right under everyone’s noses.”
Hiro leans forward, his face scrunching in confusion, his brow furrowed deep with concern. “If these things are Lily’s real focus, then why spend so much time and effort on the siren project? What’s the connection?”
I lean back in the creaky chair, folding my arms as my mind churns over the possibilities. “I don’t know yet, but it has to be more than just about the sirens. There’s something bigger at play here—”
Before I can finish, Wake reaches out, his long fingers gently but firmly taking the schematic from my hands. His eyes narrow, the intensity of his gaze sharpening as he studies the page, his brow furrowing in concentration. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just stares, his focus unwavering. It’s like he’s seeing something that the rest of us can’t, something hidden beneath the surface.
“What is it?” I ask, leaning over to get a better look, my pulse quickening. "You see something?"
Wake nods, his finger tapping on a section of the ship’s design, just under the turret. “This… this is Enkian.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind from my lungs. I exchange a quick glance with Hiro, his eyes widening in disbelief. Both of us lean in closer, peering at the symbols he’s pointing to. At first glance, I had thought they were just ornamental, like some decorative carvings etched into the side of the sub for aesthetics. But now, looking closer, I realize that the symbols are too deliberate, too purposeful to be just decoration.
“What are you talking about?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. “What part of this is Enkian?”
He points again, this time tracing the strange, intricate carvings with the tip of his finger. “These markings. They’re Enkian symbols. It says, ‘One of Many.’”
My stomach drops. My throat tightens as the implications of his words settle in. “Wait. I thought the Enkian didn’t have a written language. Isn’t that what you told me?”
“We don’t record our history in written form,” Wake explains, his voice steady but laced with an edge of frustration. “Our stories are passed down orally from clan elders to the next generation. But we do have a written language.”
Hiro, sitting back in his chair, crosses his arms, his brows knitting together as he processes this new information. “So it’s pictographic? You use pictures to express ideas rather than letters?”
Wake tilts his head slightly, his expression confused, as if Hiro’s question doesn’t make sense. “Are letters not pictures that express a concept?”
I give him a wry smile, trying to ease the tension, but it’s hard to keep my voice steady with the enormity of what we’ve just uncovered. “You know what he means, Wake. You’ve seen human writing before. What do the Enkian use their symbols for, if not to record stories?”
He looks back at the schematic, his eyes narrowing again as he traces the markings with his fingertip. “We mark ownership. We use symbols to warn others of dangerous areas or to signal where food is bountiful. We keep track of time.”
“Time?” Hiro echoes, leaning forward again, intrigued. “Like a calendar?”
Wake grunts softly, his tone growing more guarded. “And maps. A system to measure distance. We keep count of things. We are not primitive.”
“Of course, you’re not,” I say quickly, realizing I may have inadvertently offended him. “We didn’t mean—"
Wake cuts me off with a curt nod, but I can tell the line of questioning has irked him. “But if this is Enkian writing…” I continue, my eyes flicking back to the schematics. “Then what the hell is it doing on a human war machine?”
Wake’s expression darkens, his jaw tightening as the full weight of the revelation hits him. He chuffs softly, almost as if the question offends him on some primal level. “This ship isn’t just inspired by my people,” he says, his voice low and simmering with restrained anger. “It is Enkian.”
Wake’s words hit the air between us like a thunderclap. Silence stretches between us, thick and heavy, as Hiro and I process what he’s just said.
“You think this ship belongs to your people?” Hiro’s voice carries a mix of shock and skepticism, as if he's trying to wrap his head around the idea.
Wake’s scowl deepens. “I do not think anything. I know that it does.” His tone is sharp, final. There's no room for debate in his words.
Hiro, ever the diplomat, raises his hands in a gesture of peace. “Apologies, I don’t mean to sound patronizing. It’s just...”
I can see Hiro struggling, his mind racing to put the pieces together, but it’s not every day you find out that a secret organization like Enigma is reverse-engineering alien technology. I feel the same shock ricocheting through my system, but I find myself saying what Hiro can’t seem to put into words.
“Do the Enkian have technology like this?” I ask, my voice quieter now, almost hesitant. The question feels too big, too important.
Wake’s jaw clenches, and for the first time since we met, I see discomfort—no, conflict—flash across his face. He glances down at the schematic again, his finger still resting on the Enkian symbol, before finally meeting my gaze.
“These are things,” he says slowly, carefully. “That I am not permitted to speak of...not to outsiders like you.”
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