The Central Core transformed into a command center as the mission commenced. Holographic displays painted real-time data across every surface—atmospheric pressure readings, team positions, fabrication progress, and the steady countdown to deployment: 04:23:17 and falling.
Bunk's construction protocols worked at maximum efficiency, his Blockbuster frame surrounded by a symphony of mechanical precision. Mobile collection units rolled off his fabrication lines every three minutes—sleek, angular vehicles that looked like hybrid ambulances crossed with armored personnel carriers. Each unit featured twelve individual hibernation pods, magnetic levitation systems for smooth transport, and emergency medical suites capable of monitoring vital signs through the wax-like husks.
"Unit Seven thousand two hundred fifty-six completed," he announced, his angular fists guiding another collection vehicle into the staging area where volunteer crews waited with barely contained anticipation. "Full atmospheric recycling, temperature regulation, and impact protection. These babies could survive a hull breach and keep their cargo stable."
Across the Core, Hexi worked with Xylogram in perfect synchronization, her Tesseract Weaver plates forming complex geometric arrays that interfaced directly with the ship's atmospheric systems. Mathematical models rotated in mid-air—fluid dynamics equations that mapped airflow through fifteen kilometers of corridors, ventilation shafts, and emergency air supplies.
"Dispersal calculation refinement complete," Hexie reported, her analytical systems painting optimal release points throughout the ship. "Primary distribution through main atmospheric processors, secondary through emergency ventilation. Total saturation time: four hours, twenty-three minutes. Concentration levels will peak at 97.3% coverage."
"The remaining 2.7%?" Lacey asked, her Knight systems monitoring the overall operation from her coordination station.
"Deep Corruption zones where atmospheric systems have been compromised or deliberately severed," Xylogram's voice carried a note of concern. "Those areas will require manual intervention."
In the training bay adjacent to Central Core, Pip and Zozo worked with teams of volunteers, their combined expertise creating comprehensive collection protocols. Pip's Storybook armor projected instructional narratives—visual guides that showed proper handling of hibernation husks, safety procedures, and emergency responses. Her empathic sensors monitored the volunteers' emotional states, ensuring confidence levels remained high despite the magnitude of their task.
"Remember," she addressed the assembled teams, "the husks may look fragile, but they're actually quite resilient. The wax-like coating is a protective shell designed to maintain perfect internal conditions. Handle them gently but don't be afraid—you're carrying people home."
Deep in the ship's most dangerous sectors, Tumbler moved like a ghost between realities. His Phase Carnival abilities let him scout locations that would be suicidal for normal reconnaissance, phase-shifting through walls to assess hive concentrations and optimal positioning for the Six's intervention teams.
"Red Zone Alpha has approximately three hundred infected crew in the former hydroponics bay," his voice crackled through the comm from somewhere in the ship's lower reaches. "They've built some kind of communal structure—looks like they're trying to recreate a garden using chitinous materials and bioluminescent secretions."
His phase-shifted perspective revealed the tragic beauty of what the infected crew had attempted—geometric patterns of living coral-like structures, "They're building nests." he jumped through outher corridors phase shifting in and out.
"Red Zone Beta, the engineering sectors, showing massive hive activity. I count at least eight hundred signatures, maybe more. They've integrated themselves into the ship's power distribution systems. We'll need to be careful not to cause cascading failures when we extract them."
At the mission's nerve center, Lacey coordinated with Xylogram on the atmospheric release sequence. Her Clockwork Knight systems interfaced directly with the AI's crystalline consciousness, their combined processing power ensuring perfect timing and distribution.
"Final system check," she announced, her brass gears clicking through operational protocols. "Atmospheric processors online. Antiviral synthesis complete. Collection teams in position. All Six tactical units ready for deployment."
The countdown reached 00:15:00.
Around the ship, 500 volunteers stood ready beside their collection vehicles. In the red zones, the Six took their positions at strategic intervention points. The Cargo Hold was ready to store up to Seven thousand in hibernation pods.
"This is it," Lacey's voice carried across all comm channels, reaching every volunteer, every tactical position, every corner of their coordinated operation. " In fifteen minutes, we begin the largest rescue mission in human history. We bring everyone home."
Dagger barked another command, her finger stabbing at a holographic control node. "Couvrez les équipes ! Évacuez les zones critiques, et tenez la ligne !
The atmospheric processors hummed to life, ready to carry hope itself through every corridor of the Meridian's Edge.
Operation Homecoming had begun.