A vast, cavernous space. A cathedral of brass, copper, and iron. Pistons, thick as tree trunks, stand silent and locked. The great Centrifugal Drive, a sphere of glass and intricate brasswork, sits dormant at the heart of the room.
The silence is absolute. Heavy.
SOUND: The distant, mournful cry of a dockyard gull.
EVAN SAMPSON (70s), weathered and worn as the machinery around him, wipes his hands on a rag that is more grease than cotton. His movements are slow, his knees ache. The air, thick with the smell of singed copper and hydraulic fluid, shimmers with heat from the sun beating on the hull.
He runs a hand over the cool metal of a piston housing. A final goodbye.
He reaches for a wooden cane hooked over a pressure valve.
And that's when he feels it.
A VIBRATION. Not a sound. A deep, subtle tremor rising from the concrete floor, through the soles of his worn leather boots.
Evan freezes, hand hovering over his cane. He frowns, tilting his head.
Then, the HUM begins.
A low, resonant B-FLAT that emanates from the Centrifugal Drive. It vibrates in Evan's chest. Impossible.
He grabs his cane and hobbles toward the main console, ignoring a sharp protest from his hip. His eyes are locked on the primary pressure gauge.
CLOSE ON THE GAUGE
The needle, resting at zero, TWITCHES. Once. Twice. Then it begins a smooth, steady sweep to the right. Into the yellow. Toward the red.
His gnarled fingers fly over brass toggles, checking readouts. All dead. All cold.
The HUM climbs in pitch. The glass casing of the Drive rattles in its frame.
On a nearby wall, a mercury thermometer SHATTERS from the sonic pressure. Silver droplets skitter across the floor.
Panic, cold and sharp, cuts through Evan's grief.
A voice booms from the gantry catwalk above.
EDNA GRISHAM (70s), theatrical and sharp, descends an iron staircase, a silk scarf trailing behind her. She wears her navigator’s coat despite the oppressive heat.
Edna lands on the deck floor, her boots ringing.
He throws his shoulder against a large, rusted release wheel. It doesn't budge. Searing heat radiates from the metal.
Edna’s theatricality vanishes. She sees the gauge needle deep in the red. Her face becomes a mask of terrifying competence.
Her fingers fly across switches, her arthritis forgotten.
He abandons the wheel and lunges for a heavy, red-painted EMERGENCY BYPASS lever. He grips it with both hands, knuckles white. He PULLS.
It’s stuck fast. A groan of exertion and desperation tears from his throat.
Edna is there in an instant. Her hands, covered in rings, clamp over his. Together, they haul back.
SOUND: A high-pitched SCREECH of protesting metal.
With a final, agonizing jerk, the lever gives way.
A DEAFENING BLAST of steam erupts from the floor grates. The room fills with white, hot vapor smelling of ancient minerals and lightning.
The HUM stabilizes, its pitch holding steady. The pressure needle wavers, then holds at the very edge of the red line.
Evan collapses against a railing, chest heaving. His hand trembles as he wipes sweat from his face.
Edna leans against the console, fanning herself with a clipboard.
The steam slowly dissipates.
The Centrifugal Drive is GLOWING. Not with the orange of heat, but a pulsating, rhythmic BLUE luminescence from its core.
Evan stares, his breath catching.
She walks slowly toward the glowing core, the blue light dancing across her face. She reaches out, her fingers hovering inches from the vibrating glass.
She turns to him, her eyes bright with a terrifying, youthful spark.
Evan hobbles closer, squinting at the rhythmic light. The pattern is undeniable. A coordinate set.
She taps the glass with a manicured fingernail.
Evan looks around the engine room. Minutes ago, a tomb. Now, it is alive. Dangerous. The impossible heat warms his aching joints.
Edna laughs, a sharp, delighted sound that echoes in the vast room.
He is. He can't help it. His mind is already racing.
Evan looks from the glowing gauge to Edna's expectant face. He straightens his back, ignoring the twinge in his spine. He wipes a smear of grease from his cheek and adjusts his suspenders. The engineer takes over.
A predatory, glorious grin spreads across Edna's face.
Evan turns to the console. The blue light reflects in his eyes, burning away the melancholy. He flips a series of brass switches.
SOUND: A low, powerful THUMP-THUMP-THUMP as auxiliary systems begin to engage.
The singing of the brass colossus has begun.
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