The Brass Terminal Repair Yard sprawled across the eastern edge of Millport, a labyrinth of drydocks, crane systems, and specialized workshops humming with activity. Mechanics and engineers moved with practiced efficiency between projects, their clothing stained with the distinctive blue-black of magical lubricant and the rust-red of conventional machinery fluids.

  Dalia stood beside the Crimson Gull, arms crossed as she surveyed the damage. In the harsh industrial lighting of the repair dock, their ship looked far worse than she'd expected—hull plates buckled from dimensional stress, the stabilizer array hanging at an unnatural angle, and scorch marks from energy weapons marring the once-proud vessel's skin.

  "Well?" she asked, turning to the yard foreman—a stout woman named Bellis with calloused hands and calculating eyes.

  Bellis made a show of consulting her clipboard, though Dalia suspected the thorough inspection of the past hour had already provided all necessary information. "It's extensive," the foreman finally said, glancing up. "Dimensional travel's done a number on your harmonic couplings, Captain. Don't see damage like this often."

  "But you can fix it?" Tessa stepped forward, her engineering expertise making her naturally protective of the Gull.

  "Can? Yes. Quickly?" Bellis's expression soured. "That's another matter entirely."

  "How long?" Dalia asked, already suspecting she wouldn't like the answer.

  "Seven days minimum. And that's assuming I can get the specialized Arcanite-infused coupling plates from our supplier in Northmark."

  "Seven days?" Tessa echoed incredulously. "That's ridiculous. The primary repairs shouldn't take more than two!"

  Bellis shrugged, unmoved by Tessa's outburst. "Standard work, sure. But this?" She gestured toward the distorted metal where the energy web had made contact with the hull. "This isn't standard. The molecular structure's been altered by whatever interdimensional nonsense you've been flying through. We need specialized materials to properly realign the harmonic frequencies."

  Dalia exchanged a glance with Finnian, whose subtle frown confirmed her own suspicions. Their arrival with Blacklock had drawn considerable attention, and now suddenly they faced unexpected delays. Coincidence seemed unlikely.

  "What about cost?" she asked, deliberately keeping her tone neutral.

  Bellis consulted her clipboard again. "Twelve thousand credits. That includes expedited procurement fees for the specialized materials."

  "Expedited to take a week?" Arlo muttered, not quite under his breath.

  The foreman shot him a sharp look. "You're welcome to try another yard, of course. But you'll find the same issues anywhere in Millport. Dimensional damage requires specific protocols."

  "We'll pay the fee," Dalia decided, ignoring Tessa's look of protest. "But I want daily progress reports, and I want my engineer to have full access during repairs."

  "Your ship, your rules," Bellis agreed with casual indifference. "I'll need half up front, half on completion."

  As the foreman moved away to prepare the paperwork, Tessa stepped closer to Dalia, her voice low and urgent. "This is highway robbery, Captain. Even with specialized materials, seven days is at least twice what it should take."

  "I know," Dalia replied quietly. "But we need the repairs, and we need to figure out what's happening here."

  "You think they're deliberately delaying us?" Finnian asked, his military experience making him naturally alert to potential threats.

  "I think Blacklock's capture was too easy, and now we're conveniently stuck in Millport for a week," Dalia said. "Nothing about this feels right."

  Joran, who had remained silent during the technical discussions, moved closer to their huddle. The small Resonator had attracted curious glances from the repair yard workers, his pearlescent skin and luminous eyes marking him as distinctly non-human. "The Key's resonance patterns have been... unsettled since arriving in this location," he offered. "There are harmonic disruptions I cannot precisely identify."

  "More reason to stay alert," Dalia concluded. "Finn, arrange secure accommodations away from the main thoroughfares. Tessa, I want you overseeing every moment of work on the Gull. Arlo, see what information you can gather about Millport's connection to the Academy—shipping manifests, communication protocols, anything that might link them."

  "And you, Captain?" Finnian inquired, one eyebrow raising slightly.

  "I have an appointment with Commander Hayes," Dalia replied, touching the brass identification token in her pocket. "Time to see what the Territorial Authority actually knows about our friend Blacklock."

  The Territorial Authority Tower stood as a gleaming counterpoint to Millport's industrial aesthetic. Where most of the city embraced brass, iron, and exposed machinery, the Tower presented a fa?ade of polished steel and blue-tinted glas.

  Dalia approached the main entrance, conscious of the eyes following her progress—uniformed guards whose attention seemed just slightly too intense for routine security. The brass token granted her immediate access, a deferential nod from the reception officer directing her to a private lift at the building's core.

  "Fifteenth floor, Captain," the officer instructed. "Commander Hayes is expecting you."

  The lift ascended with barely perceptible motion, the only indication of movement the changing numbers illuminated on an ornate dial. When the doors opened, Dalia found herself in a reception area decorated with maps, commendations, and the occasional trophy—presumably captured from notorious criminals.

  A slender aide rose from behind a desk inlaid with arcane circuitry. "Captain Sinclair? This way, please. The commander is ready for you."

  Hayes's office matched the woman herself—efficient, unadorned except where functionality demanded it, and positioned to command an impressive view of Millport's sprawling expanse. The commander stood as Dalia entered, gesturing toward a chair positioned before her desk.

  "Captain Sinclair. Please, be seated. I trust the repair arrangements are satisfactory?"

  "They're proceeding," Dalia replied carefully, noting the specific phrasing of Hayes's question. "Though I admit I'm surprised by the timeline. Seven days seems excessive."

  Something flickered across Hayes's expression—too brief to identify—before she settled into her own chair. "Millport's repair yards are very thorough. Especially when dealing with vessels that have experienced... unusual stresses."

  The pointed emphasis wasn't lost on Dalia. "You mean dimensional travel."

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  "Among other things." Hayes leaned forward slightly. "Let's dispense with the charade, shall we? Your ship didn't simply stumble across Blacklock during routine travel. The damage patterns indicate dimensional transition, and your crew includes a Resonator from the Harmonic Conclave—a dimension most humans don't even know exists."

  Dalia briefly considered continuing the pretense, then abandoned it as counterproductive. "You seem well-informed, Commander."

  "The Territorial Authority's jurisdiction includes interdimensional threats, Captain. Though we seldom advertise this fact." Hayes's steel-gray eyes studied Dalia with uncomfortable intensity. "What I'm less clear about is your role in all this. Academy records indicate you were expelled under questionable circumstances, then immediately assigned to pilot a supposedly decommissioned vessel carrying an extremely valuable and dangerous cargo."

  "You've been investigating me," Dalia observed, unsurprised but wary.

  "I've been investigating Blacklock for three years," Hayes corrected. "Your name appeared in his communications approximately four months ago—well before your expulsion. Curious timing, wouldn't you agree?"

  The revelation sent a chill down Dalia's spine. "He knew about me before the Academy acted against me?"

  "Indeed. Which suggests either remarkable foresight or—"

  "Or he was working with someone inside the Academy from the beginning," Dalia finished, the pieces aligning with disturbing clarity. "Someone who identified me as useful for their plans."

  Hayes nodded "The question becomes: what made you so specifically valuable to their conspiracy? And why bring the Key across dimensions only to return it?"

  "You know about the Key," Dalia stated rather than asked.

  "The Arcanite crystal aboard your vessel? Yes. Though we call it by a different name in our records." Hayes withdrew a slim file from her desk drawer, opening it to reveal diagrams that looked eerily similar to those Joran had shown them. "The Harmonic Nexus Component. One of seven such artifacts created to stabilize the boundaries between dimensional planes."

  Dalia leaned forward, studying the diagrams with growing concern. "These are remarkably detailed for information about a secret interdimensional system."

  "The Territorial Authority has maintained contact with the Harmonic Conclave for generations, Captain. Our mandate extends beyond conventional crime." Hayes closed the file with a decisive motion. "Which brings me to my proposition."

  "Proposition?"

  "Blacklock is merely a pawn—a useful one, certainly, but not the architect of this conspiracy. His capture gives us an opportunity to trace connections back to those truly responsible." Hayes's expression hardened. "I want your help to unravel this conspiracy from both sides. You have experience with both Academy operations and Conclave politics that my agents lack."

  "And in return?" Dalia asked, suspicion tempering her natural inclination to cooperate against their common enemy.

  "Full exoneration of any potential charges related to interdimensional interference. Expedited repairs for your vessel. And—" Hayes paused meaningfully, "—official recognition of your captaincy, independent of Academy oversight."

  The offer was generous—suspiciously so. Yet Dalia couldn't deny the appeal of official legitimacy after being forced into her role through Academy manipulation. Still, something about the situation nagged at her.

  "I'll need to discuss this with my crew," she said finally. "And I'd like to see Blacklock."

  "Of course. Your loyalty to your crew is commendable." Hayes rose, signaling the end of their meeting. "As for Blacklock, he's being held in our secured detention facility. I can arrange a supervised interrogation session tomorrow morning."

  "Thank you, Commander."

  As Dalia left the office, her thoughts churned with new information and fresh suspicions. Hayes knew too much, too quickly—about the dimensional travel, the Key, even about Dalia's connection to Academy conspirators. Either the Territorial Authority's intelligence network was remarkably efficient, or...

  Blacklock's parting words echoed in her mind: "Check your allies carefully. Not everyone wearing a uniform serves the cause they claim to represent."

  The Crossed Gears Inn stood at the intersection of Millport's manufacturing district and the more respectable merchant quarter—exactly the kind of establishment that catered to airship crews with money to spend but not enough status for the city's elite accommodations. Finnian had secured a private dining room on the inn's second floor, where the crew now gathered to share their findings.

  "The repair yard is deliberately stalling," Tessa reported without preamble, stabbing her fork into a plate of roasted vegetables. "I caught two of their engineers discussing 'holding pattern protocols' when they thought I wasn't listening. And those specialized coupling plates Bellis mentioned? They've got six of them sitting in their inventory shed right now."

  "So they're intentionally delaying our repairs," Dalia confirmed. "The question is, on whose orders?"

  "I might have part of that answer," Arlo offered, his usual jovial expression sobered by concern. "I managed to charm my way into the dockmasters' records office—"

  "By 'charm,' he means he flirted shamelessly with the assistant clerk," Finnian interjected dryly.

  "Effective tactics shouldn't be dismissed, First Mate," Arlo returned with a shadow of his normal grin. "Anyway, I found shipping records showing regular deliveries from the Academy to a research facility on Millport's northern outskirts. The manifests list 'educational materials,' but the security protocols attached to the shipments tell a different story."

  "What kind of security?" Dalia pressed.

  "Military-grade containment fields. Harmonic dampeners. The kind of precautions you'd use for transporting Arcanite." Arlo pushed a crumpled copy of a manifest across the table. "And look who signs off on them."

  The name at the bottom of the page sent a jolt through Dalia: Professor Caldwell.

  "It gets worse," Arlo continued. "The last shipment arrived three days ago—the day before we captured Blacklock. And there's a scheduled pickup tomorrow morning from the same facility, bound for the Academy."

  Joran, who had been quietly processing their information, finally spoke. "The harmonic disruptions I've been sensing... they could be related to Arcanite processing. If they're attempting to replicate the Key's properties—"

  "They could potentially create their own dimensional gateway," Dalia finished, the implications chilling. "Without needing our crystal at all."

  "Which means Blacklock's capture could be a distraction," Finnian concluded, his military mind immediately identifying the tactical advantage. "Keep us occupied with bureaucracy and repairs while the real operation proceeds elsewhere."

  Dalia took a steadying breath, carefully considering their limited options. "Tessa, can you get the Gull minimally operational? I'm not talking about perfect repairs—just enough to fly if we need to make a quick exit."

  The engineer frowned thoughtfully. "With access to their parts shed and about twelve hours of focused work... maybe. It won't be pretty, and we'd be limited to low altitudes, but it could get us airborne."

  "Do it," Dalia decided. "Finn, I want security protocols in place—watches, alert systems, emergency rendezvous points if we get separated. Arlo, find us everything you can about this research facility. Layout, security rotations, access points."

  "You're planning an infiltration," Finnian observed, not a question but a statement of fact.

  "I'm planning to understand what we're really dealing with," Dalia corrected. "Hayes has offered me an alliance against the conspiracy. She's arranged for me to interrogate Blacklock tomorrow morning."

  "You don't trust her," Tessa noted.

  "I don't trust anyone associated with Blacklock's capture going this smoothly," Dalia replied grimly. "Something else is happening here, and I intend to find out what before—"

  A sharp knock at the door interrupted her. Finnian moved silently to position himself beside the entrance, one hand dropping to the weapon concealed beneath his jacket. At Dalia's nod, he opened the door to reveal a uniformed messenger bearing the Territorial Authority's insignia.

  "Captain Sinclair?" The messenger extended a sealed envelope. "Urgent communication from Commander Hayes."

  Dalia accepted the envelope with a murmured thanks, breaking the seal only after the messenger had departed. As she read the brief message inside, her expression darkened.

  "What is it?" Arlo asked, tension evident in his normally relaxed posture.

  Dalia looked up, her eyes hard with renewed suspicion. "Blacklock is dead. Apparently he committed suicide in his cell an hour ago." She slapped the message down on the table. "And Hayes wants to move up our meeting—to tonight."

  "Suicide?" Finnian echoed skeptically. "A man like Blacklock?"

  "Exactly," Dalia agreed. "Someone is eliminating loose ends. And I have a feeling they're not finished yet."

  As if in confirmation of her fears, a distant explosion shook the building, rattling glasses and sending plaster dust drifting from the ceiling. Through the window, they could see a plume of smoke rising from the direction of the repair yards.

  From exactly where the Crimson Gull was docked.