In the resounding blackness of the fluid abyssal bottom that the eldest Davyjones called home, there was a ripple of strange noise. It was also familiar, perhaps the echo of a voice from a chamber plus a specific, known heartbeat. It was that thing, that structure, moving in an unusual fashion. The dragonspeaker was inside it, the strategic human Draig.

There were no refracted wavelengths from it, just a couple sparkles of electricity on the streams. Still just motion in the water, there would be light soon – that thing is very bright. The Davyjones could tell by the movement where they were looking to go, and how far, and how well they were doing. There were a number of currents that radiated from here that he knew and could feel. The massive building-sized boltcutter claws sent off a thundering few beats of aqueous percussion.

This subtly noticeable vibration reached the Arch in motion, and Draig Claymore recognized the feel of those stony gates crashing shut nearby. It was the inimitable, unsurpassed, majestic crustacean dragon friend, the Eldest Davyjones. What was he doing here? Upon his request, they darkened the Arch except for operating information. There was a lot of ocean on this planet, and here they were, crossing paths. Draig could think of a few possible ways to go from here, and was balancing likely propulsion allowance within the meteoric depths. They might want to see the Davyjones if they could, if only to dodge its gigantic bulk.

A light kindled in the darkness, a shade of blue that Draig recalled from the time that the Dragon Arctyri had introduced them. This time, as they neared enough to discern it, there were only some visible parts of the intricate lines of bioluminescence on the Eldest. Draig saw the convergence point of these lines, as well as their radiant angles. He understood. They had come to an understanding during that introduction, and it was still there. Judging from where they’d been going, Claymore could figure out where those lines went. Those were currents, in the facing direction. He did not doubt the Davyjones. Draig instinctively determined their course with this. The Woollibees set the Arch as requested, and they were rewarded with a surge of following current. Draig cackled, and pounded his knuckles on the viewing pane in a chipper answering beat.

The Eldest Davyjones perceived the rhythmic answer, and blinked his eye bouquets at the calculus curve of the passing Arch. With one crash of a claw, the encounter was concluded. He returned to spinning a profound eternity of deep blind contemplations on the great ocean.

“It is I, my good bros of the snack den,” announced Derringer in leisure suit glory, with a strolling gesture of magnificence after having been let in to the only occupied office suite in the small building. “Have I got a list of links for you. We’re going to read some diaries, go through drawers of underthings, and send them their underwear in a gift box with a note of introduction and a token of our affectionate esteem.”

Fred DeWalt turned from the bank of security monitors he was maintaining. “That sounds ethically dubious.”

“Alas, it’s the line of work we’ve gotten ourselves into,” Derringer said, shaking his head helplessly.

“Have a seat,” gestured Chad Dremel. “Have a slice. Tell us what kind of trouble and/or opportunity we’ve got on our hands, thanks to you.”

Derringer took a seat in front of an active screen in Dremel’s ceiling-mounted setup. “I’m too excited to eat yet. It involves ladies.”

“Utterly terrifying, yet I am not surprised,” quipped Fred.

“Pull up a chair next to me so I can show you how to do this, while I can remember it all.” Chad and Fred did so, facing Derringer’s screen. “So, list.” With a finger he selected a random item. “Public address.” He opened a business page of what looked to be an outgoing life coach. Derringer pointed to the corner of his list, where an address endtag was written. “Secret portal. Some might not have it.” They added the address tag, which took them to a page with a background and nothing else. “Go to the source code.” The page switched from graphics to code. Derringer pointed at the other corner of his list sheet, where there was an alphanumerical string. “Search for this string. It bookends a sequence specific to the site. Record or copy it. Get the admin contact from the source code, and send them this sequence in an encrypted message. Use the subject line: ACTIVATE PORTAL. Then something will happen, with which we need not concern ourselves.”

“And all of these sites belong to… ladies?” Chad worked his logic.

“Should we be worried?” Fred muttered almost under his breath.

“No, this won’t come back to haunt us at all,” Derringer said with loud confidence. “This is all we were asked to do, by our employer and associate. I was not warned of any potential repercussions whatsoever. We have top level authorization, and I am told this is programmatically consensual, and does not constitute a breach. Unlike an actual panty raid.”

“Wow… Splendid.” Chad Dremel had been rapidly flipping through the page links. “They’re all gorgeous and powerful.”

“We have nothing to fear,” Derringer said soothingly. “And now I will have that slice.”