PROLOGUE

   Algernon climbed the stairs as he had every day for the last fifteen years. He dragged his ageing body to the top of the Eastern Watchtower one stair at a time. His work boots caused the metal rungs to make a dull clang with every step as his rough, weathered hands gripped the loose handrail, shaking free a few flecks of rust with every movement. They fell to the stone floor below like flakes of blood-soaked snow. The tower had an elevator, but Algernon was heading towards seventy-five and the daily climb did his body good, it was the only exercise he got these days, and aside from the occasional moans of protest from his knees and back, his body remained otherwise quiet on the matter, appreciating whatever morsel of care he could provide it. With all the medical advancements made in the centuries since the Landing, it seemed that the eradication of the aches and pains of old age would be forever out of reach for those on the outer borders of Parliament rule. Still, only five years until retirement - if he chose to take. Algernon was a workaholic, although if pressed on the matter, he'd merely say he had a strong work ethic. 'Nothin' wrong with that' he'd punctuate the claim with, proudly. He insisted on working every day of the week (and wasn't that something he'd shouted loud and proud about to senior Watch staff), never took a day off sick, and often had to be near enough coerced into taking annual leave- and even then he couldn't stay away, finding excuses to visit or check in. Algernon thought some of the younger staff could learn a thing or two from him, but that was a conversation he had quietly with himself. He knew when to rock the boat and when not to. You didn't get to his age without learning a trick or two, and after a life on the waters it was a metaphor he held in extra high regard.  
   Whether dawn, high-sun or dusk, Algernon had risen promptly to make the climb, every day, four hundred and nine days a year for the last fifteen years, and every one of those days he'd encouraged his body up the eighty steps to the tower control room without protest, without grumble and without fanfare. There was exception of course, the one day a year he allowed for Florence. She floated through his thoughts even now, as she often did in the nine years since she'd passed, yet Algernon welcomed these thoughts and savoured every one; good or bad and however unexpected, they were his and as long as he carried her with him, she would never truly be gone.  
   He gripped the handrail and methodically put one foot in front of the other, breathing deeply the smell of salt that gently wafted down the stairwell from the ventilation shafts above, the draft of sea breeze caressing his thinning hair. Algernon had spent his entire life on First Province and was so accustomed to the smell of the ocean that he never noticed it anymore, except here in the watchtower; the stairwell somehow always heightening the damp aroma of the endless oceans. He loved the scent and the tower. Away from the warm comfort of his empty home, it was here that he felt the most at home. The smells and winds of the outdoors were more a comforting blanket than any soft linen ever could be.    

   Even before Florence passed and the children moved to the mainland, Algernon had never been able to sit still, never able not to do something. He’d had to work, had to labour, had to struggle all the way from nothing for as long as he could remember. He was a street rat - not born that way of course - but orphaned like so many others by tiders, way back when the city council claimed to have neither the money nor the resources to install defence turrets. It had taken another seven attacks, with hundreds dead or missing and a near city-wide shutdown for someone in City Hall to see sense and finally authorise the installation. A loan from the Capital had helped too; after all, First Province was the closest neighbour to the mainland and as it fell within outer Parliament control, they had a vested interest in protecting their front line.  Although it fell within Parliament controlled waters, First Province was Christened as such as it was the first major settlement off-land - a springboard for further colonisation efforts - not because it was expected to bear the brunt of every eastbound tider vessel that rolled in from the horizon. Algernon had no idea how long it had taken to repay the sizable debt to the Capital, but the city's economy and functionality had been on a slow decline ever since.  

   The docks were the only natural place for a lost boy with no immediate family or income in a place that could barely afford to keep itself in repairs, let alone house every stray and infirm. 'Forgotten Province' became a common slang amongst the city's disenfranchised, and at fourteen Algernon had joined a ship - a fishing trawler, and from then on, he would be up before sunrise and on the waters every day just as the first rays of daylight started to caress the Opal Ocean. Several trawlers, cargo ships, maintenance craft, and decades later Algernon had his own vessel, his own home and his own family. Forty-five years of tough labour on the open seas had instilled in him an unshakable need to work, a need that was not easily unlearned. That was before his back had finally given in and the days of open water were replaced with a confined tower control room. He was fully aware that it wasn't just the simple need to work that drove him up the tower’s eighty steps every day - it was the absence, the silent void that haunted him whenever he returned to the now too-spacious home. It seemed larger now, unwelcoming somehow, and had done ever since Florence had been taken by damp-lung. He missed her terribly, and always looked forward to that one day a year that was just for them. Their anniversary.
    He took the day to pay his respects and celebrate their life together and oddly it was the one day that he didn't feel so alone. He would rise later than usual - but still earlier than most - and make Florence's favourite breakfast - a fruit salad made from citrus fruits and Papaya's grown in the Capital's orchards, drizzled with the nectar harvested from the seatrees of Equatorial Lower. After he ate, he would then make the hour climb - always climbing - to Coliseum Bridge, and then onto Spirepoint. As there was almost no natural land on First Province,  Spirepoint was one of many artificial gardens built into the structure of the city itself, nestled within Coliseum Bridge's central support column. 

   What natural land there was were the few chunks of ragged exposed rock that had formed the base for the city's initial foundation framework and were long ago rendered completely buried. The rest of the First Province stayed afloat via carefully designed compartments built into the base infrastructure that were completely hollow, and the city was anchored in place by eight immense weights that reached deep down to the ocean floor. This lack of any real land on the island meant that cremation or burial at sea were the standard options for those deceased. Florence had chosen cremation and Algernon had scattered her ashes into the wind at Spirepoint. It was their spot, the place where they met, and the place that Algernon had proposed. It was the one place on the whole island that seemed to represent their forty years together, the one place that represented them. Algernon would lay a dozen fire blossoms at the foot of Spirepoint's central fountain and then sit, where he would look out at the oceans that had bordered his entire life. It was on that day, once a year, at that place, where Algernon felt most at peace and content with the life that he had been given. He wasn't an overly religious man by any means and although he was versed in the old faiths and the new, he followed none of them. He was however comforted by the prospect of becoming one with the winds and waters he loved so much, the same winds and waters where his beloved Florence now resided. It seemed like the closest thing to any kind of soul or afterlife that he could imagine, and it was a prospect that comforted him immensely. 

   Algernon reached the apex of the stairwell and took a few moments to catch his breath. Ahead of him stood the single metal door emblazoned with the seal of the First Province Coastal Watch; a dark blue image of the city's skyline, etched in gold, with a large black compass looming behind it like a rising sun -although the seal, like the door, was dull and rusted, the colours long faded. Underneath the seal, in large bold letters read AUTHORISED PERSONNEL ONLY BEYOND THIS POINT. Algernon pressed his thumb to the scanner and waited as the old, partially corroded computer systems pondered his identity before releasing the lock with a dull clank. Algernon spun the dog lever, pushed the door open, and stepped into the control room.    
   The small octagonal space – matching the exterior shape of the building - was populated by various terminals and instruments. The gentle hum and whirring of years old machinery was almost soothing,  but the towers equipment, like the rest of the structure, was run down and in desperate need of upgrades. Running the entire circumference of the room were large windows that gave a full three-sixty panoramic view of the ocean and city skyline. To the right was a small comfort area with a kitchenette, sofa, storage and hygiene facilities; and to the left, the main guard station. Algernon climbed up the three steps leading from the entrance door to find a lithe, fair haired, middle aged woman occupying one of the worn guard chairs.  
    "Mornin' Al," she said, briefly looking up from her datapad.   
    "Beatrice. Quiet night?" Algernon removed his satchel and headed to the small stack of lockers next to the kitchenette.   
    "Nothin’ to report," she continued tapping away intermittently with a stylus. "Unregistered smugglin’ vessel tried to creep in on the south side, but coast guard were on ‘em before they even came into radar range."   
    "You still playin’ that thing? Thought you finished it?" Algernon opened his satchel and removed a container of stew from within, he placed it in the small refrigerator and flicked out his locker key from his pocket-fob. The locker stack was four wide and four high, Algernon's was top row, second from the left, that way he didn't have to bend down too much. It was easier on his back. 
   "I did, highest difficulty now." 

   Algernon gestured to the small book case next to the sofa, where vintage paperbacks were stacked haphazardly.

   "Nothin, taking your fancy?"  He took his own borrowed and battered from his locker, his eyes couldn't handle too much screen reading anymore. 
   "Haven't found anythin’ in a while I like the sound of. Oh, and the coffee machine fritzed just after your shift yesterday, so no coffee." Beatrice turned around with an exasperated eye roll and rested her arm on the back of the chair.  
   Algernon paused at the machine, cup in hand. He'd given up coffee three years earlier, it didn't sit well with his bowels anymore, the synthetic stuff that was. He hadn't had real coffee in over five years, not since Hart had sent some over from the capital as a wedding anniversary gift for he and Florence. The last they’d had together.
    "So no hot water either? No tea?" Algernon asked, frustrated. This was the fifth malfunction this year.  
   "Nothin', but I brought up an insu-can I had laying around, so feel free to help yourself. Should be enough hot water in it for a few days at least. Sanjit's already put in a repair order." 
   Algernon examined the canister resting on the floor next to the now defunct drinks machine. It was a medium sized metallic keg with a pump tap on top. It was of good quality and would suit their needs.
   "Thanks," Algernon said graciously, sighing. "I've got some juice, I should be fine." He briefly checked the schedule pinned on the toilet door to remind himself who was manning the other towers. Halliday on North, oh-five thirty start; Vern on South - he was due to finish at oh-six thirty; and on West was Cate-Lynn who was due to end her shift at oh-seven hundred.
   "Shall we?" asked Beatrice, yawning. "It's been a long night and I ain't as young as I was."
   "Course," Algernon replied. He wheeled an even older, even more worn chair from the storage corner, someone had affectionately stuck a label on the back that read AL'S CHAIR. It was his chair alright, and it was comfortable, fitted to his shape, and helped ease his back.    
   He parked next to Beatrice at the dual controls, typed in his access code and scanned in his thumbprint, after a brief loading screen he was greeted with the control menu for the towers functions. He adjusted the microphone mounted to the console and spoke:  
   "East Tower oh-six hundred reporting’. All other towers receiving’? Over." 
   There was a brief pause, before Vern's crackling, rasping voice replied. 
   "South Tower acknowledging' East Tower. Over." 
   "East confirms South, over," Algernon replied.  
   "North Tower acknowledging' East Tower, Mornin' Al. Over." 
   "East confirms North and returns the non-protocol good mornin' Over." 
   "West Tower acknowledges East Tower. Over." 
   "East confirms West. Over." Algernon relaxed back into his seat, the official log of duty was complete.
   Beatrice leaned forward and spoke into her own mic.  
   "East Tower twenty-three hundred signin’ off, over," she waited while the relevant responses came back. Beatrice keyed in her end of shift sequence and handed control over to Algernon.
   "She's all yours, fella," she got up, stretched out her back with a crack and headed to the lockers.    
   "How's the family?"
   "Aye, grand. Too busy to get back out here for a few months. All well though, all well."
   Both Hart and Grayson had had a knack for science, maths, and mechanics and now both worked in engineering on the mainland. Hart, after winning a scholarship to Equatorial District's very own Branton University had remained in the Capital working freelance for several aerospace and aquanautical design companies. Grayson, spurred on by his brothers achievements, worked tirelessly to escape the confines of First Province (he’d inherited his father’s work ethic) and now found himself working on mechanical software tech in New Paris. Both boys made good money, and both had endlessly badgered Algernon with offers to move him to the mainland, to which he had stubbornly refused and explained that he fully intended to live out the rest of days on what Grayson referred to as the 'Floating Rust Bucket Where Dreams Go to Die.'
   "The littlun's getting big, huh?" Beatrice asked, cigarette already in her lips as she struggled into her jacket. She'd gained some weight over the last few months and the jacket was a little too snug, Algernon wasn't sure if she realised or not, but knew better than to address it.     
   "Too big, the boys vidcall every couple'a weeks and the little runts seem to have grown another few inches every time. What's happening with you and Charley's vacation anyhow? Been over a week and you ain't complained once."
   "I ain't got time for complainin' 'bout it anymore. Trust me, if you don't see me for a couple weeks, I ain't on holiday, I'm probably doing time in lock up for killin' her."
   "That bad, huh?"
   "Not even close. I'm outta here, see ya when I see ya."
   "Take care Bea."
   Beatrice fired him a little salute and trotted down the steps before slamming the bulkhead door behind her. Once again Algernon was alone, except up here, that's just how he liked it. He stood up, took a deep breath and surveyed the horizon ahead of him, taking in the view. He did a quick circle of the room, starting with the open expanse of the Opal ocean to the East he followed the panoramic view clockwise, passing the towering asymmetrical obelisks of metal, stone and glass that made up the city skyline from South East round to North East. The city’s external plumbing stood out against the grey and shining shades of metal as huge pipes of primary colours tracing across the various surfaces like veins on skin. Eventually, he came back to his chair at the Eastern most window and took in the view he fell in love with every day. As the sun slowly rose over the vast blue waters of the ocean that surrounded First Province its rays seemed to dance on the water's surface, creating a constantly shifting pattern of liquid light that made the city seem as if it was floating on the surface of the sun itself. Two hundred and fifty miles ahead, somewhere across the open water, the mainland began, but out here there was nothing but the dancing ripples of tides and currents. Underneath the tower, the outskirts of the city stretched out to the left and right. Harbours, warehouses, and factories all slowly coming to life as the dawn sun rose. The din of voices, vehicles and ocean waves all combined to create a perfect symphony of life in the city.
    Algernon took all this in, then removed his uniform fleece, hanging it neatly on the back of his chair, and after a quick scan of the radar and weather monitoring instruments, which all looked normal, he settled into his chair and let the sounds of the city wash over him as he disappeared into his book.

    He had no idea how much time had passed when the radar alert jerked him back to reality but when he looked up at the clock, he was surprised to find only seventeen minutes had elapsed. He wheeled over to the large circular display and studied it. Everything looked normal - the numerous green indicators swam about the black void, each one signifying a different model and type of registered vessel; their unique transponder ID hovering above their icon. Yet there, at the edge of the display, approaching from the south east was a small red icon, unregistered in the island database, unknown. No ID registration meant no legally required transponder, which meant one of only two things - smugglers, or much worse. Algernon touched the red icon, displaying its current co-ordinates and speed, a steady forty-five knots per hour, too fast for most smuggling vessels but not entirely unheard of. Still, he didn't like the look of it. Ignoring the fluttering in his stomach, he quickly entered the co-ordinates into the periscope terminal, his semi-arthritic fingers working deftly and delicately, almost automatically, despite their shortcomings. He barely noticed the dull throb in his joints as he focused on the task at hand. The responding whir from above as the external cameras and sensors aligned did not make him feel any less calm, but it would at least allow him a clear look of the unknown vessel. He got up and hobbled to the centre of the room as the periscope shaft lowered from above, slowly rotating into its correct position. Algernon stepped up to the platform, gripped the handles tightly, took a deep breath, and gazed into the viewfinder.

    At first the image was blurred, but as the system calibrated and the co-ordinates flashed in front of his eyes (still keen after all these years) the image grew clearer as it was magnified. There, in crystal clear clarity was a tider ship - a huge open topped vessel, water churning underneath as its engines pushed it forward, powered by the enormous solar-sails that arose from the top like tendrils of black flame licking the sky. The image magnification was so sharp that Algernon could see individual tiders running about on deck, gearing up, drinking, shouting; one man even stood at the starboard railing pissing freely into the wind as he deftly loaded his pistol. As Algernon swung the scope downwards he could see the churning water growing in ferocity as the ship began to increase its speed.  
     "Oh no," he whispered. He barely managed the words as abject terror gripped his throat. He tried to stay calm, he knew the protocol, and protocol must take precedence above all else, even fear. He swung the periscope back up to the sails and searched frantically for any kind of insignia the ship may bare, and there, on the largest sail, painted in a putrid, almost luminescent green was a screaming skull, droplets of blood falling from its open jaw. Algernon's now trembling hand reached along the side of the periscope and he heard the click as the snapshot was taken, he shuffled back the main console as the image fired up on screen. His heart was racing as the panic started to consume him. His chest was hurting. He watched the computer cycle through the database of known tider tribes and ships and it took only seconds for a match to flash up. The ship approaching First Province, was none other than the Ocean Ghost.
    Algernon felt his knees buckle, he grasped for his seat and held himself steady. He wasn't as knowledgeable as perhaps he should have been about the various factions, tribes and crews within tider society, but there wasn't a water-born person alive who hadn't heard of the Ocean Ghost. The ships deeds were known as far as the oceans stretched, and its captain, even by tider standards was known to be a monster. Merciless, sadistic, brutal. The man had once raided a pleasure cruiser touring the southern archipelago and left the vessel a burned-out wreck leaving any guest or crewman that remained aboard flayed and impaled onto the hull. The aftermath was deemed too horrific to show on news feeds and Parliament had tried desperately to downplay the severity of the attack, but there was no more reliable news than the word of the waters. The captains name was on the tip of Algernon's tongue, but he found, almost with a chuckle that his memory had failed him. Goodwin wasn't it? Goodison? He checked the info file, Goodman. Locke Goodman. 

   Suddenly Algernon was a boy again, cowering under a pile of collapsed rubble, listening to the screams and death wails of the people around him, silently sobbing and praying that he wouldn't be next. It had taken a long time to forget the horrors of the day the Hanging Bat had anchored at First Province and changed Algernon's life irrevocably. There had been other raids in the years since, but now, faced so closely with another, and so immediately, the day surfaced at the front of his mind with a frightening clarity that he hoped never to experience again. Yet here he was, on the front line and the entire city relied on what he did next. Algernon had studied, ran the drills himself. He clasped his trembling hands together to steady them, shook his head clear, inhaled deeply and exhaled with a slight cough.
   Quickly, he moved to his mic and opened a cross wide channel.
   "East Tower code red, code red from East Tower, all other comms receiving? Over." His voice seemed an octave above what it should be, despite his best efforts to stay calm. He knew the turrets would make quick work of the vessel, but the childhood fear refused to leave his side. The fact that the weapons had never been used outside of drills was the icing on the cake.  
   The formal, yet panicked responses came back in acknowledgement, three from the other towers, one from Watch HQ, which was nestled safely at the centre of the island, amongst the towers and blocky high rises of CentreHub.       
    "We have a tider vessel approachin’ from East-South-East baring three-niner-seven, transmitting data now," he fired over the scans and vid logs to HQ and the other tower operators. "Need command authorisation for South and East Towers to activate turrets? Over."     
   "Goodman?" came back a young, hysterical voice from out of Watch HQ. "What a way to christen the cannons. Let the son of a bitch have it. Command authorisation granted. Hourly access code is Alpha-Two-Niner-Beta-Three-Niner-Omega-Two-Zero. Over." Algernon furiously jotted down the code, his trembling hand making the letters and numbers near illegible.
    "South acknowledges access, HQ," Vern's terrified voice responded over the comms. "You there, Al? You okay?"
   In his frantic writing, Algernon had completely forgotten to authenticate his acknowledgement.  
  "East acknowledges access, HQ. I'm here Vern. Over."
   The citywide siren let loose with its rhythmic wailing of danger. Inspired by the World War II sirens of Old Earth, the droning horn rang out from each of the four towers, interspersed with a prerecorded set of shelter instructions for the relevant parts of the city. The noise filled the control room, masking the sounds of panic erupting below as the anyone in the relevant sectors fled for cover or headed to the emergency raid stations dotted throughout the streets and alleys. All boats and trawlers out of the East and South docks began to alter their course northwards or Westwards ensuring they were out of potential firing range of the ship’s armaments.
   Algernon, not having heard the sirens in the months since the last drill, covered his ears, forgetting that he should have already closed all windows to prevent any noise obstruction over comms. He activated the window controls and waited, the siren slowly muffling as the windows sealed shut, only slightly soundproofing the room.
   He lifted the clear plastic box that covered the turret controls and keyed in the access code. He placed his hand on the activation key firmly, then leaned into the microphone once more.
  "East Tower code is a lock, South Tower please confirm? Over."
  "South Tower is a lock. Turret activation in three, two, one and turn!" Algernon turned the key at the same instance Vern turned his over fifteen miles away, and he heard the groaning mechanical grinding from around the towers structure as the defense turrets took aim at the approaching vessel.
   He looked out of the window, craning his head around to get a look at the closest cannon. It was in position. The ship, now visible on the horizon and quickly growing larger was dead in its line of fire. All going to plan, it would be over before it started.  
   Algernon waited for the inevitable, thunderous response to the incursion, and yet, nothing.
   "Come on, come on! What you waitin’ for?"
    Still nothing.
   Then, Vern's voice crackled through the mic, confusion permeating every word. "South Tower turrets nonresponsive. How about you East Tower? Over."
   "I'm here Vern, nothing. Command? What's happening? Over." Algernon tapped the console furiously, and gave it a hard whack.  
    There was the beginning of a garbled response before the unknown voice from HQ was transformed into indistinguishable static, seconds later every screen and display in the control room descended into jittering pixels of coloured nonsense.
  "This is East Tower? Is anybody receiving? Over." Nothing. Algernon stood, frozen, listening to the stream of uninterrupted static. Suddenly, from outside, the mechanical grinding of repositioning turrets grabbed his attention.
  "What the hell?" He peered outwards and watched in horror as the turrets slowly turned inwards, pointing towards the city.
   "Oh no... no... please..." but his words barely registered as the huge weapons opened fire. Algernon ran to the west window, arriving in time to see thousands of tungsten slugs tearing into anything in their path. He watched helplessly as buildings, equipment, fleeing people and animals, were torn to shreds. The immediate square mileage surrounding the tower was already a field of destruction as debris rained down amongst the red smears of ruined bodies that decorated the scene. To his left, in the distance, he watched the flashes of fire as the South Tower cannons showered their own share death and destruction onto the very people they were supposed to protect.
   Algernon held onto the ledge, gripping so tightly his fingers burned with agony. Think, think, act! He screamed at himself internally. Act!
   "Act!" he finally screamed aloud. He forced himself away from the window, swallowed the rising nausea back down and headed to the emergency supply box. He fumbled with the tin case, attempted three times to enter the code and finally managed on his fourth. From within he grabbed the handheld radio and the pistol. He checked that the pistol was loaded, it was, an eight-shot cartridge was already clipped into the side. Algernon grabbed the gun belt too, and slung that around his mid-section, four spare cartridges now within easy reach. He headed over to the main console, tripping over the box as he did so whilst turning on the radio.
   "Command!" he screamed. "Vern? Anyone? You receiving? This is East Tower! Over."
Nothing. Not even static. Algernon fumbled with radios cover, yanked out the battery -it was dead. Corroded. Neglected. He hurled the radio aside in fury.
   "Act," he said to himself again. "Act, act," he repeated it now, forming a sort of mantra. He knew the next step. In the event of an incursion of such magnitude that the turrets wouldn't suffice, or in the unlikely event of complete system failure (of which the Capital had assured them was near impossible due to the quality and redundancies built into the Parliament hardware) then the next option was the old-fashioned one. There hadn't been the need to call a hopper battalion to First Province in twelve years, not since the last time a tider vessel had managed to reach the city shores. To Algernon, it seemed a lifetime ago. Six months later, the turrets had been installed and the days of living under a blanket of fear were over. Until now it seemed. He had no way of knowing if one of the other tower guards, or even HQ had activated the emergency pulse beacon, but Algernon pressed his own all the same, trusting that the silent network signal would reach the Capital. Unless that too had malfunctioned.  
   With the siren still wailing outside, Algernon slowly raised his head, almost too afraid to again look down on the massacre. As he forced his eyes outwards, he saw the Ocean Ghost make port on the south side of the tower, only its sails now  visible over the low-rise warehouses of Fisherman's Freeway.

    Algernon spotted the last remnants of the freeways inhabitants making their way further inland: some old, some children, some just too foolish to leave their bits of precious behind. As he watched, silently willing them to safety as the vessel made port Algernon became dimly aware that the turrets had ceased firing. Probably out of ammunition, he surmised. He looked up and could just make out the giant barrel of the nearest gun, now frozen in smoking silence. Yet still the siren blared, masking the sounds of shouts and desperate screams from below.
   For a brief few moments all was still save for the constant wailing of the alarm. Then, more chaos came. 
     A huge harpoon dart erupted from the ship, trailing a thick cord of rope behind it. It sailed through the air before piercing a large billboard looming over the district which bore the face of a handsome young blond man in a hopper dress uniform - it read THE HOPPERS NEED YOU! TEST NOW AND SERVE YOUR PARLIAMENT! Even with his view obscured by the warehouses, Algernon knew more darts would be vomiting forth from the ship's interior, embedding themselves into walls, market stalls and support structures. Sure enough, there was another - he saw it impale an unlucky citizen who'd managed to avoid the gunfire, only to die with his body pinned to the side of a warehouse. It took only seconds for the darts to be secured and the ropes tethered and tightened. Algernon knew all this, he knew the pattern of a tider attack, he knew that the Ocean Ghost would now slowly lower its main exit ramp, and from there, at the stern of the ship, the bulk of the crew would emerge like termites from a mound. He wished he didn't know, knowing made it easier to picture what was happening.
    Carefully, Algernon clambered onto the still crackling console, craning his head to get a better view over the warehouses, afraid to watch, yet compelled to all the same. As he reached to pull himself higher, he saw the tiders erupt from inside the ship, just as he knew they would. Filthy, grubby sea dwellers slid down the ropes on compact harnesses as more emerged amongst the warehouses at ground level, filing out from the belly of the vessel. There was no formation, no strategy, just a wave of anarchy and death. With guns firing and swords swinging they headed straight for anything valuable they could find; looting for the sake of looting, burning for the sake of burning and shooting for the sake of shooting. Any helpless victims they did come across would either be killed, raped or taken prisoner to be sold or kept as concubines or slaves. Algernon watched a cluster of the bandits run toward the largest warehouse, a two-story expanse of rusted metal and mortar owned by Kionis Industries.  The tiders vanished around the front side of the building, and moments later, a cloud of filthy smoke and debris erupted into the air, presumably from an explosive device as they tore their way into the facility.
   Algernon was suddenly aware that he hadn't locked down the entrance to the tower and as fast as his creaking body would allow he began his ungainly return to the floor, hoping against hope that there wasn't already a handful of raiders scurrying up the inner stairwell, or worse, packed into the elevator. As his feet settled onto the floor, he deactivated the elevator controls before his tired, but keen eyes picked up distant movement on the horizon. A dark mass was gliding towards the city at tremendous speed across the waves, the huge haze of ocean spray creating an almost fog like cloud of shifting white water behind it. Algernon leant against the console, the breath he'd been holding in for so long finally released from his lungs and he shuddered as the wave of relief consumed him. He looked up, the mass was now close enough to make out the individual streaks of black and blue on the hoppers uniforms - over a hundred of them, traversing the water at an inhuman speed. We're saved, Algernon thought. He watched as the hoppers hit the quay and disappeared behind the warehouses with only the occasional flash of black and blue amongst the tiders patchwork rags allowing him a slight hint as to how the battle was playing out -
   KRA-BOOM!
  -Algernon fell to the floor as the entire tower shook, dust falling from the ceiling. He cried out in pain and surprise. Rolling over, he tried climbing to his feet, but another small tremor caused him to lose his footing. He managed to stumble to the window, gripping anything he could find for support in time to see another mortar catapulted from the ship. It rocketed through the air and crashed into the quays surface, erupting in a ball of flame and wreckage as hoppers and tiders alike were thrown asunder in a spray of blood and rubble. The first mortar had hit not a hundred metres away and the reinforced tower windows were covered in grime and dust, plumes of dirty smoke wafted past, obscuring Algernon's view even more so. The second mortar had been flung further afield and patches of fresh flame now dotted the scene like smouldering fireflies. A third mortar, misfiring with a creak and a snap now sailed pointlessly through the air, falling into the ocean and releasing a pillar of hot, steaming water.
   Algernon stood at the window unable to do anything as his home was abused and violated. He looked on helplessly, watching men and women he didn't even know dying as they risked their lives to protect his little slice of the world. He was suddenly very conscious of movement on his cheek, a delicate almost non-existent tickle. He reached to his face, tapping gently and his finger came away moist. Now now, you old fool. No time for tears. He smiled and was so entranced with the liquid sadness decorating his fingers that he barely noticed the brief burst of turret fire and the flaming wreck of a large aircraft that went sailing past the tower, exploding somewhere in the distance. Only the slight rumble under his feet brought him back to the here and now. He took a step forward, heading towards-
   KRA-BOOM!
  - Algernon screamed as he was hurled to the ground once more, a fourth mortar exploding at the base of the watchtower. He was showered with dust and chunks of ceiling and glass as a window blew inwards. The coffee machine fell onto its front, now truly broken beyond repair. A nearby console short-circuited and erupted in a shower of sparks and flame. Beatrice's insu-can went rolling across the room.   
   "No, no, no," he moaned, he felt a hot trickle run down his face and he reached to his head, this time his hand came away red and slick. He tried to stand, but found he couldn't, his leg hurt badly. His trousers were covered in a slowly spreading island of blood but he daren't investigate further.  Instead, he clawed at his chair but only succeeded in pushing it further away, it rolled mere inches but was now too far out his limited reach. He shuffled around and found a console support leg. With every effort he could muster he pulled his aching body upwards and reached out once more, finally managing to fall into his chair. His breathing was laboured, his face wet with tears and blood. He wasn't sure exactly where he was injured as everything hurt so much that it was hard to tell. He turned to the door to find it blocked by a ceiling support, he had no escape and nowhere to take cover except under now-unstable electrical hardware.
   "Help!" He screamed to no one. He was afraid, alone. Not the kind of alone he was used to, that he could always manage. This was different. This was the alone he imagined a helpless caged animal may feel, the same kind of alone he had felt the day he'd lost his parents, the day he thought he would surely die. This time I am going to die, he thought with a sudden realisation. The shock of it unleashed a choked, bloody laugh.  This is it, it must be. Another tremor rocked the tower, he wasn't sure if it was another nearby mortar or the strain of structural damage taking its toll. He breathed deeply as best he could, steeling himself. A wave of defiance washed over him. No. Not yet.
   "I ain't dyin’ like this," he said to no one. "I wanna look at her." He wheeled his chair over to the nearest available window within reach. He gripped the ledge and hauled himself up, his body screaming in pain. He was no longer afraid, his determination overcame all else. Stubborn old bastard, he said to himself. Just like you always were. Algernon gazed out at the endless waters surrounding him, the only thing he'd loved more than Florence. His precious ocean. He coughed, droplets of blood spattered onto the window. If this place holds and I get outta here, I'm done. Maybe I will move to the mainland, after all.

   "I should’ve retired," he said aloud laughing. His laugh was swallowed by the alarm, still blaring amongst the chaos.
   He looked past the battlefield, past the fighting, past the destruction and bloodshed. His gaze was fixed upon the Opal Ocean and nothing else. Algernon never saw the jet of water that was fired with four tons of pressure from the Ocean Ghost’s huge thunderfall cannon, he never saw it hit the base of the already weakened East Tower with such force that it destroyed the tower-base's structural integrity within seconds.
   All he saw was the horizon tilt sideways as the tower collapsed around him. The acceptance of what was happening was instant, and oddly calming. I'm coming, Florence, my love. I'm coming. Algernon's last thought was of them together, at Spirepoint, young again, laughing and very much in love. And then he was gone.