“Dry dock” is the term used when a ship is taken out of service to undergo major repairs. Think of it as the maritime equivalent of a major car service, but on a colossal scale. It is a monumental undertaking, not something that happens every year. After years of service, the vessel is grounded, and the company attempts to execute as many repairs and modifications as possible in the shortest amount of time.

Such operations are planned years in advance for every ship. Depending on the vessel’s age, mileage, and wear and tear, the repairs can be minor or massive. Regardless of the scope, it is an exorbitantly expensive affair, always costing tens of millions of dollars.

To someone from my background, this entire concept sounded utterly surreal. Back home, grand plans are discussed ad nauseam but rarely executed—like our fabled metro, the new railway station, or any other capital project. Everything is “needed,” everything is “planned,” yet nothing ever happens because there is always some excuse. Subconsciously, I probably expected the same scenario here: delays, cancellations, the usual bureaucratic limbo.

Naturally, this being a different world, my assumptions turned out to be foolish and irrelevant. The scheduled date was sacred. Preparations were well underway, becoming more obvious by the day. Various materials began arriving on the ship, cluttering every sector. Piles of metal, piping, rolls of carpet, and God knows what else. The ship slowly began to morph into a warehouse, a floating hangar. We were stuffing it to the brim with supplies.

The primary objective was the construction of a hundred new cabins with balconies on both sides of the ship. Once completed, this new real estate would offer better views and command much higher prices. Alongside this, a myriad of cosmetic uplifts were scheduled: retiling, recarpeting, revamping the bars, redesigning the open deck, and who knows what else.

When our manager briefed us on this, I had no clue what it would actually look like. Who would be doing what? What would our duties be? What happens to the photo team? A million questions swirled in my head—questions that plagued the majority of the crew. Almost no one knew exactly what awaited us. There were only a few exceptions to this collective ignorance.

Naturally, Nolan was one of those who knew. That man probably knows if there is life beyond Earth and whether Martians actually visit us. I forgot to ask him that, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he had an answer. Essentially, he clarified everything I couldn’t decipher from the official emails.

In short: absolute madness ensued.

The dry dock was scheduled to last three weeks. During that time, an army of contractors from all over the world would descend upon the ship, each tending to their specific trade. For our renovations alone, about 900 workers were expected! Like us, they would work around the clock to finish everything by the deadline.

The most crucial detail for us: for those three weeks, there would be no passengers!

We were finally free of them. This was the key difference that would completely alter the ship’s regime and system. During the dry dock, practically the entire crew gets reassigned. Everyone is tasked with something they haven’t done before—mostly cleaning or some form of manual labor required somewhere on the vessel.

To be fair, they didn’t need literally every crew member, so those who wanted to could be transferred to other ships. If someone was near the end of their contract, they could request an early release or go on vacation—though they would have to pay for the vacation themselves. The company didn’t cover that cost, which seemed logical enough.

However, none of these options appealed to me. My team was solid. If I transferred to another ship, who knew who I’d end up with? I’d gotten lucky with supervisors twice; I was ready to bet my life that lightning wouldn’t strike a third time. I didn’t want to tempt fate. I was far from the end of my contract, so going home wasn’t an option. And taking an unpaid vacation somewhere was out of the question—I simply didn’t have the funds. My situation was clear: I would stay here, come what may.

Honestly, I was curious to see the spectacle, to see what this chaos would look like. My main goal until then was to fly under the radar and avoid the back-breaking assignments, of which—according to rumors—there would be plenty. Everything here was about to be turned upside down, done in a rush, head over heels. There was talk of so many changes that I truly couldn’t conceive or visualize the next few weeks…