Chapter 12

Mid April. Selvin reporting.

Nightwing surged eastward, skimming the stratosphere as Aloo’s torpedo streaked ahead like a comet trailing bioluminescent vapor. Below, the Atlantic’s midnight expanse unfolded -- a vast star filled sky, broken only by the pulsing green beacon of Aloo’s craft. “He’s diving,” Elliot announced, watching the torpedo plunge toward the Mid-Atlantic Ridge. “Targeting hydrothermal vents at 3,000 meters.”

Craynet studied the sensor feed: superheated water billowed from volcanic chimneys, teeming with extremophiles. Aloo passed the chimneys and slowed to nearly a stop when he extended crystalline tendrils, harvesting psychrophiles adapted to metabolize crude oil. “He’s stocking up for the Gulf,” she murmured. “Those organisms will devour the petroleum and hydrocarbon plumes still seeping from old wellheads.”

A proximity alert chimed. “Commander,” Selvin intoned, “satellite imagery shows Russian seismic survey vessels converging on Aloo’s position. They’re deploying deep-sea drones—unarmed, but equipped with high-intensity sonar.”

C’Droit’s eyes narrowed. “Hail them. Warn them that sonar bursts could disrupt the microbial colonies.” Before Selvin could comply, Aloo’s torpedo abruptly ascended, veering northwest. Its new trajectory would bypass the southern Gulf entirely, arcing toward the Mississippi Delta... “Selvin! Projected destination!”

“New Orleans,” Selvin replied. He projected pollution maps. Industrial runoff flushed from the river glowed crimson on the display—pesticides, heavy metals, and a toxic soup of nitrogen, potassium, and carbon -- and He’s targeting the source.”

Below, Aloo’s craft slowed over the murky waters where the Mississippi met the sea. Instead of diving, it hovered, releasing a shimmering mist that settled over the river’s mouth. Instantly, the water clarified—a visible gradient of clean blue bleeding upstream against the brown current, the murky water from the Mississippi forcing the clearer salt water to descend. “He’s deploying freshwater-adapted strains,” Craynet realized. “They’re binding toxins into inert sediment.”

Suddenly, Selvin’s voice cut through. “Drone swarm detected -- Russian origin. Approaching from the tip of Florida.” On tactical, dozens of tiny dots fanned out over the Gulf, dropping sensor buoys. “They’re mapping the cleanup, not interfering.”

Craynet watched the river’s edge transform. Where the microbial mist touched, chemical slicks congealed into harmless gray silt that sank, revealing clear water beneath. “Elliot, scan the sediment.”