(This is the story text from the corresponding Radio Cataclysm podcast episode. If you prefer audio, you can subscribe here. Read and listen early on Patreon.)

The light from John's staff seemed to reach the walls of the tunnel and vanish like water in a sponge. Even the floor at his feet drank the light and kept it. The air was dry and cold. Wherever he was, it didn't seem like the gullet of a snake. With nothing else to do, he kept walking.

After a time, his boots fell on something coarse and gritty. It crunched underfoot. The light from his staff twinkled on a million facets. He knew what it was; he could feel it. Even so, Seraphanta's voice whispered down the corridor to him, “Sssalt from all the tears you've shed for your brother.”

“Yeah?” said John. “I cried a lot over Kurt. I still do sometimes. What about it? What's the point of this?”

“Presssicely. What is the point of all those tears? They will not bring your brother back. Not even I can do sssuch a thing. Do you think yourssself greater than me?”

There was a light further down the corridor. Not a stafflight or a reflection. It was warm and friendly. It came from a lamp that hung over a table with a cushioned bench on either side. Two cups of coffee sat on the table. One bench was empty. Kurt sat in the other. He smiled when he saw John. “I thought you'd never show up,” he said. “I went ahead and ordered your usual. I'll never understand how you can eat corned beef hash. Too much salt for me. Go on, sit down. Your coffee's getting cold.”

John started to answer, but as soon as he opened his mouth the salt began to crumble and rain down from the ceiling. Whatever John had meant to say, the only thing that came out were the words of a spell he'd vowed long ago to put away for good. Of course, he'd broken that vow more than once in the years since.

“John, what are you doing?” Kurt looked surprised, then horrified. The water evaporated from his eyes and tongue. Moisture poured from his mouth like warm breath on a cold morning.

John wanted to yell, “No!” but he couldn't stop chanting. Kurt's pores were seeping now, giving up his body's water as he withered like a prune.

John shut his eyes. He could reverse the spell. He could put the water back, he could make it right. He held his staff so that it nearly scraped the top of the corridor and swung it in a swift arc at the floor. The salt flew up around him. The water that hung in the air around Kurt's horrified visage condensed all at once and rained down onto his skin, but it didn't go back in.

Behind John, the sound of rushing water filled the corridor. He reached for Kurt, but he wasn't close or fast enough. The water smacked him off his feet and into the darkness.

There was nothing to grab to slow his velocity down the tunnel. He may as well have been falling through space, but for the cold pressure of the water on all sides. The current showed no sign of slowing. The darkness was absolute. He tried to turn himself in the water to see if he could catch a glimpse of Kurt in his booth at the diner, but he couldn't even tell which way was which. He spun like a leaf in a stream. His lungs ached for a breath. His pulse pounded in his head.

He tried to let his body relax. “A watery abyss,” he thought. “A fitting end for a mage like me.” He let the air out of his lungs. It bubbled away to some unseen surface. In a moment he would let the water in, let it take him finally. He saw a light in the distance. It was warm and friendly. It was a fire blazing, not ahead of him but above.

John focused on the light. He couldn't swim against the current, it was too strong, too fast, but he was an aquamancer. He didn't need to swim. He could make his own current. He burst from the surface of the water like a whale coming up for air. He came up too fast, pulling too much water along for the ride. The fire was doused instantly.

At first, he chided himself as he stood on the bank, shivering and panting. Then he saw the source of the conflagration, lying on the ground, barely conscious, burnt to the edge of recognition. It was Niewt.

“What if it's just another manifestation?” said Zeck. “And when we enter, we'll be trapped forever in the swamp.”

Steven shrugged. “I guess we'll find out. But I've got a feeling this is the real deal.”

The signal had brought them to the limestone ruins of some castle-like structure. In the center of the ruins, sitting alone like a pearl in a shell, was something that could only be the Cormorant. It was shaped like an enormous egg laid on its side. At first glance, it seemed to be ivory white all over, without so much as a scratch or smudge on its surface. As they rode closer, it shimmered with waves of pearlescent rainbows. It was a thousand colors at once, all at once, and never the same from one glance to the next.

“Pretty, isn't it,” said John. They hadn't seen him at first, sitting on a slab of limestone next to the supine body of Private Murkle. “But it won't let us in.”

“Fucking hell,” said Steven. They climbed down from the courser. “Is that Niewt?”

“Is he?” said Zeck.

“He's alive,” said John. “Barely.”

“There ought to be some Medigel in the horse,” said Zeck.

John nodded. “That would help. But I have a feeling we're gonna need more than that.” He pointed.

Sheryl was only a few paces behind Zeck and Steven. She had a distant look in her eyes. Captain Irving was limp in her arms. “The Colonel?” she said. “Have you seen him?”

“Not since we left the forest,” said Zeck.

Sheryl looked at the ship as if noticing it for the first time. “The Cormorant?” she said.

“That's what the signal tells us,” said Steven.

“That's it, all right,” said John. “Beats me how we get in, let alone fly the thing.”

“I have a hunch,” said Sheryl. “Come on, all of you. We'll be safe inside. I fucking hope.”

A whinny like the shriek of a banshee pierced the air. Ouroboros stepped out from behind the Cormorant. The Colonel was beside him, his sword drawn. Without a word, he stalked toward Zeck with a cold sense of purpose. Zeck drew his acoustic laser from his satchel and fired at the Colonel. The blast knocked him onto his back, but he got to his feet without a pause and kept coming.

“Take her,” said Sheryl, lifting Irving's body as gently as she could onto the courser's back. “Get to the ship. I'll hold off the Colonel.”

“You can't do it alone,” said Zeck.

“But you have to go,” said Sheryl. “Trust me. It has to be you. It's in your blood.”

Another whinny, less chilling and more a crude mimicry of a real horse, blared from the side of the clearing. It was Chad's rouncey. Everybody turned to look, including the Colonel. “You think I'm not fit to be a soldier?” said Bob through the rouncey's speaker. “You're not fit to be a Colonel. Hell, you're not fit to, to- It doesn't matter. You want to fight somebody? Fight me.”

Ouroboros lowered his head as if to charge. He let out a snort of steam, cut short by a wet smack. Bob had fired something from the rouncey's mouth. It looked like a wad of bubblegum on the side of the destrier's face. By now, they all knew what it was. The pinkish blob grew and spread with alarming speed, famished from its time in the containment chamber. Ouroboros shook his head and tried to scrape it off with a hoof, but it only spread. Soon it covered the destrier's face. Still, he bucked and scraped at the spreading mass.

The Colonel strode toward Zeck with renewed vigor. Sheryl jumped between them. “Go,” she shouted, “leave us!” She slashed at the Colonel with both of her blades. He parried easily, but the distraction bought the rest of them a few crucial seconds.

Nobody hesitated. Zeck led the courser with Irving's body to the Cormorant. Steven helped John carry Niewt. Only Bob stayed, still in the rouncey tank.

“You know my name,” said Sheryl. She stabbed at the silken gousset over the Colonel's neck. He flicked her blade away with his sword. “You always told me you never knew my real name, but that was a lie.” Another thrust, another parry.

A small ramp on the underside of the ship led from the ground to a smooth, featureless wall. “This seems to be the way in,” said John. “But like I said, it's not letting us enter. Beats me how to open it.”

Zeck went up the ramp and examined the hull. “Well, maybe there's some kind of hidden switch or-” He reached out to touch the surface, but before he could even lay a finger on it, the outline of a door appeared and slid upward. “Welcome, Commander,” said a warm voice from within.

“What is even happening?” said Steven.

“Well, don't just stand around,” said John. “Let's scoot.”

The Colonel turned away from Sheryl and jogged toward the ship. She leapt over his head, spun in midair and landed in his path. “You're not going anywhere,” she said. “Not until you say my name.” She advanced on him with a flurry of attacks that forced him backwards, even as he deflected each blow. “I know what it is now,” she said. “After all this time, I finally remember. But I want to hear you say it.”

The Colonel didn't say it. He didn't say anything. He simply walked away, as if he would go around her and stroll up to the ship.

“Say it!” she yelled. “Say something! After all these years, after everything, look me in the eye and say my name.” She slashed again with her right blade. The Colonel parried with his sword, and the cracks in Sheryl's vambrace widened. The blade's sheath broke loose through the splintered plate and the entire weapon fell to the ground. The Colonel looked down at it dispassionately.

Sheryl raised her other blade, but the sound of galloping stopped her. The Colonel looked up a split second too late. The rouncey collided with him head-on. It wasn't going at full speed, but the force was enough to knock the Colonel off his feet and send him flying a few meters. He collided with the writhing mass of meat that had been Ouroboros minutes before. He tried to get up, but he was stuck fast. Still, he said nothing as the meat enveloped his head.

“Come on,” said Bob from inside the rouncey. “Let's see if they'll let us in.”

The Cormorant's corridors didn't have the same ethereal shimmer as the hull, but they were clean and bright. There were no apparent light sources, but everything was well lit and welcoming. A small robot rolled by, brushing and polishing the floor as it went.

“It must have completely autonomous maintenance,” said Steven.

“No wonder it looks brand new after all these years,” said Zeck.

“It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Commander,” said the disembodied voice again. “Do you require orientation?”

“Are you talking to one of us?” said Zeck.

“I am talking to you, Commander Strauss,” said the voice.

“Oh, perfect,” said Steven.

“What the heck?” said John.

“Sheryl,” said Zeck. “She said it's in my blood. When I tried to stay and help her fight the Colonel. She said I had to go, that it had to be me, specifically.”

“We can sort out all the mysteries we want later,” said Steven. “Right now we've got priorities.”

“Right,” said Zeck. “Computer? Ship? What shall I call you?”

“As my new Commander, it is your prerogative to give me a name,” said the voice.

“No pressure there,” said Zeck. “Er, look, uh, Shippy? No, not that. Look, You're putting me on the spot here. I'm just going to call you 'Ship,' and we'll come up with a name later, all right?”

“As you wish, Commander.”

“Being a captain is hard,” said Zeck.

“You know you're not a real captain, right?” said Steven.

“Visitors seek entry at the ground level entrance,” said the ship. “Would you like to greet them, or shall I incinerate them?”

“Er, can you show me who's out there?”

“Certainly.” The door leading to the entrance ramp turned translucent, revealing Sheryl and Bob with the rouncey behind them.

“Let them in, Ship,” said Zeck. “These are friends. I think. I hope.”

“Thank you,” said Sheryl when the door slid open.

“'Thank you'?” said Bob. “Strauss, you've got a lot of explaining to do. First of all-”

“We don't have time,” said Sheryl. “We can sort out grievances later. Right now, we have a rapidly expanding mass of Plumwine flesh very close to the ship. We need to take off as soon as possible. And these two need medical attention. Urgently.” She put a hand on Irving's lifeless form, still draped across the courser as if she'd fallen asleep in the saddle.

“Ship,” said Zeck, “do you have a medical bay? We have two severely wounded, possibly dead.”

“I detect four wounded and twelve dead,” said the ship. “As well as superficial wounds on all present. Please follow the wayfinding lights to the medical bay.”

“Steven and I can get these two squared away,” said John. “You should find a way to get us off the ground. We'll give you an update when we can.”

“I should go with Zeck,” said Sheryl. She placed a hand on Irving's arm. “Make sure-” she started to say, and stopped.

“We'll get her taken care of,” said John.

Sheryl nodded.

“Ship,” said Zeck, “show me to the bridge. Please.”

The medical bay was spartan at first glance, but as soon as Steven and John came in with Niewt's unconscious form and Captain Irving's body on horseback, the room itself came to life. The lights came on gently, like a sunrise. Two beds slid out from the wall. They set Niewt on one, then laid Irving on the other. A translucent dome slid over each bed. Lights from unknown sources slid along the patients' bodies from head to toe and back again.

“Preliminary scans complete,” said the ship's gentle voice. “Please allow time for convalescence. Estimates of healing time are not yet available.”

“Is she actually still alive?” said Steven, standing next to Irving's dome.

“Prognoses are available only to designated personnel,” said the ship. “Guests are welcome to make use of the adjoining lounge.” A door slid open, revealing a side room with plush seating.

“Maybe later,” said John. “Although a nap does sound pretty good right now. Ship, we'd like to join the Commander on the bridge.”

“I'll stop calling him 'corsair,' but I'm not calling him 'Commander,'” said Steven.

“Right this way,” said the ship. The floor itself lit up with a dotted line that marched forward as they followed it. It led them up a gently sloping walkway that made several turns that should have brought them in a circle more than once, but didn't.

“It's like the labyrinth all over again,” said Steven.

“Oh, this?” said John. “It's nothing to worry about. Just layered pocket magic. It's the same principle used to make wizards' robes. And Zeck's satchel, I'd bet. It can make for some confusing architecture, which is why they don't use it so much these days. This is very tidy, though. Nothing like the Pyroclast's airships, where you'd need a five-dimensional map and a trail of breadcrumbs just to find your way from the bunks to the mess hall. Spend a few days in here, and I bet you'd know it like the back of your hand. These floor lights certainly help, though.” He tapped the floor with his staff. A string of mucilaginous goo came away when he lifted it. “That's weird.”

“Aw, gross,” said Steven. “It's all over the wall, too.” A slug-trail of pinkish goo coated the wall from floor to ceiling, collecting in a small puddle on the floor. A cleaning robot whirred down the hallway and started mopping it up. It gave a chirp that could only have conveyed annoyance, and started climbing the wall after the goo trail, scrubbing as it went.

“What the hell is this stuff?” said John. He rubbed it between his fingers. “If this is anything like the airships I've been in, that's an emergency access tube it's dripping from.”

“Biomimetic systems use fluid like that sometimes,” said Steven. “Could be that it's sprung a leak.”

Before they could spend too much time worrying about it, a chime rang out a few paces ahead and a door slid open. “You have arrived at your destination,” said the ship. “Welcome to the bridge.”

Zeck was hunched over a control panel. A giant view screen took up an entire wall of the bridge. Comfortable looking chairs with simple designs carved into their bases were arranged in a semi-circle facing the screen. More seats were stationed at various consoles around the perimeter. Sheryl and Bob were each seated at one, drumming at buttons and switches with a fever. “We've got a pretty big problem, guys,” said Zeck.

“The ship chose a commander who doesn't know how to fly?” said Steven.

“Very funny,” said Zeck. “And anyway, I've made Sheryl and Bob official crew members. They know what they're doing. Apparently, modern Churlian ships were directly modeled after this one. No, the problem is that we've got company. Ship, show us the port side view.” He pointed at the view screen.

“Tell me that's zoomed in,” said Steven.

“It's actual size,” said Sheryl.

“And growing faster every minute,” said Bob.

The screen was nearly filled by an undulating mass of meat. Where before the gobbets had been flecked with purple capillaries, this one was marbled with pulsing veins of dark green and earthy brown.

“The ship has some kind of repulsor that's keeping it away,” said Sheryl, “but I wouldn't count on that to help if that thing engulfs us.”

“This might be a dumb question,” said John, “but why can't we just take off?”

“Ship,” said Zeck, “tell my friend here why we can't take off.”

“There is an unidentified terrestrial obstruction,” said the ship. “It is composed of the same material that caused us to crash on July fifth, Two-Thousand and Five. Previous attempts to destroy it with our weapons array have been unsuccessful. The latest of these attempts caused the deaths of every member of my previous crew.”

“In other words, there's something other than Plumwine's meat holding the ship here, and if we try to get loose, it could spell disaster for all of us,” said Bob.

“It's the swamp,” said John. “That which came before.”

“What is he on about?” said Bob.

“I only know the barest legends about this, but I'll tell you what I know,” said John. “This whole place is alive. Like the forest, kind of, but bigger. Older. It came from somewhere I've never even seen, someplace that maybe existed before the thaumaturgical dimensions. Maybe before our universe was even here. It's older than the old gods. It's what gave us our visions in the swamp. Whether the Cormorant brought it here, or the Resistance did it as some kind of last-ditch defense, somebody opened the door for it, and it slipped through into our world. If something it wants is within its grasp, it'll have no trouble getting it. And once it's got it, it won't let go.”

“What are you saying?” said Zeck. “The swamp wants the ship, and there's no way to get free?”

“Why would a swamp want a ship?” said Bob.

“It's not really a swamp,” said John. “That's just the form it's taking at the moment. Maybe it wants the ship. Maybe it's just using the ship to get what it really wants. I mean, it is a bit coincidental that we all happened to find our way to the ship within a few minutes of each other. I dunno, it probably brought us all here on purpose.” He shrugged. “Who knows why eldritch beings do what they do?”

“There must be something we can do,” said Sheryl. “Something we can offer it, or some way we can hurt it.”

“I have something that might put a dent in the meat,” said Zeck. He reached under his shirt and into his belly button. He grimaced. “This is a big one.” After an awkward moment, he managed to pull out the Plumwine-seeking missile the Colonel had commissioned from his stomach virus.

“That's shaped like a two-pound shot,” said Bob. “Meant to go in a Guard-issue blunderbuss. I guess the Colonel thought the attercops were good for something, after all.”

“This is good,” said Sheryl. “That thing is programmed to seek out Plumwine's flesh, not his animus.”

“What's the difference?” said Bob.

“One controls the other and gives it life,” said Sheryl. “Look at it.” She pointed to the viewscreen, where the mass of flesh was crashing over the limestone ruins like a wave. “It's not purple at all. It's like the swamp has taken it over. But it's still the same flesh. This ship has bio-interface controls. Far more advanced than our tube system. If we can change the flavor, so to speak, of the ship's repulsor, the mass of flesh outside might think we're already part of it and leave us alone. Or if that doesn't work, perhaps we can tune the repulsor to hurt it. At the very least, it could buy us some time.”

“There should be a bio-intake port over here,” said Bob. He flipped a switch. “Ah!” He jumped back from his console. “What the hell is that?”

A panel had slid open, revealing a compartment about the size of a shoebox. Sheryl peered in. “Oh,” she said. “That would explain why the ship thinks you're its commander.”

“What?” Zeck came over for a peek. In the compartment lay his hand, capped at the wrist with a vitalis cuff. “Oh. Hooray? Also, gross.”

“Also, bad news,” said Sheryl. “This means the Colonel was here before we were. And I suspect he's still on board.”

“But we fought him outside,” said Bob. “We saw him get sucked into the meat blob.”

Sheryl shook her head. “That was only his suit. It's capable of operating independently of his body, if he's unconscious. Or absent. I should have known when he didn't say anything, but I was... distracted.”

Sheryl grabbed the missile from Zeck and unscrewed the bottom. She pulled out a small disc of clear crystal, flecked with pink specks. She handed it to Bob. “That's the data crystal containing Plumwine's biosignature. See if you can copy the data and use it to program the repulsor. Then I'd like it back. It may still prove useful.”

“Steven, I might need your help on this,” said Bob.

“I'm on it,” said Steven.”

“Bob,” said Sheryl, “I'm going to need my blunderbuss back.”

He nodded “It's yours. It's in Chad's rouncey.”

“I don't know if this is related,” said John, “but we saw a weird trail of pinkish goo out in the hallway on our way up here.”

“That's him,” said Sheryl. “The Colonel. The pink fluid is similar to Omniblood. It cushions his body, feeds it, slows down aging. It's produced by an implant in his chest. If he's outside his suit, he may not have a way to shut it off. In fact, he may need it keep him alive. Which way did it lead?”

“Into an access tube, but a cleaning robot was already mopping it up.”

“Copied,” said Steven. He handed the data crystal back to Sheryl.

Sheryl screwed the missile back together and loaded it into her blunderbuss. “Ship,” she said. “One of our wounded is lost in the corridors. Help me find him.”

“This crew member has requested privacy at this time,” said the ship. “While he is subject to standard shipwide surveillance, I am afraid I cannot reveal his whereabouts.”

“Override,” said Zeck.

“I am sorry, Commander, but I cannot accept your override command in this context.”

“It would take hours to look at every camera in every corridor,” said Bob.

“I'll just do it the old-fashioned way,” said Sheryl.

Sheryl crept up the hallway without making a sound. The corridors were heavy with vacancy. A cleaning bot whirred through from a connecting hallway. “You, cleaning robot,” Sheryl said. To her mild surprise, it turned to face her. It gave a friendly chirp. “You missed a spot,” she said. “Go back and mop again. Everywhere you've mopped today.” The robot made a chirp that almost sounded apologetic. It turned back the way it had come. Sheryl followed at a discreet distance.