A long stay in port was a rare commodity for a cruise ship. They were called "cruise" ships for a reason. They made frequent calls but rarely lingered, instead just taking leisurely sails within sight of some exotic coast somewhere to give their snobby passengers a lovely view. So when a long stay did occur, it was usually relished. Not so in Britannia's case. P&O's newest flagship had been stuck in Liverpool for a week due to an illness. She was currently trying to get some much needed rest after throwing up most of the previous night and finding her temperature had soared to 103 this morning. Her head hurt, her hull ached and she just wanted some peace and quiet. Something impossible to come by in a port like this.

She heard the sounds of someone racing rapidly towards her and her nose said he was the Vice President of Operations. Briefly, she entertained the idea of faking sleep. Surely the VP was here to speak with her captain. But it wouldn't do for her to be disrespectful. Military bearings were something that would always come naturally to Britannia. So, with a heavy sigh and a bit of a cough, she slowly straightened up.

"Mister Vice President." She greeted, managing to cover her cough in her hull.

"Britannia, I am so sorry to disturb you." He began, wiping his face clean of sweat.

"Just get on with it, sir." She sighed. Looking back on it, she would be appalled by her lack of manners but her sickness was making her tongue sharp and temper short.

"This just came in from the Mary Rose Museum. They said you could identify it." He held up his phone.

She pushed a rag to her mouth as she coughed again, spitting some phlegm into it. Glaring, she folded it away and leaned forward to examine the photograph. She tilted her head to the side, looking with one eye, then the other and suddenly both widened. Stunned, she settled back in her berth, eyes fixed to the horizon. Not a word came from her.

"Britannia?" The VP questioned. "What's wrong? Do you know what that thing is?"

"I do." She spoke slowly as she weighed her words. "It's called a Current Manipulator. It was, a bit of a fad in the 16th century or so I believed. I've never seen one intact before."

"What does it do?" He asked.

She was about to answer when she paled. "Fuck!" She swore and snatched a bucket off the dock. The VP turned away as she retched.

Muttering several choice curses, Britannia pushed the bucket away. "Sorry you had to see that." She said.

He waved her off. "This Current Manipulator," He prompted. "What does it do?"

"Ah yes, sorry. It's a sort of life support. It acts as a makeshift electrolysis. Oxygen is created and flows into the ship's bloodstream via a connecting tube that has been surgically implanted into the main artery beforehand. This way even when the ship has stopped breathing, fresh oxygen can be continually supplied around the body as long as the heart keeps pumping."

"How long does it last?" He asked.

"It's powered by the current, hence its name. As long as it has moving water flowing over it, it can theoretically last indefinitely... Oh bloody hell!" Back into the bucket she went.

When through she slammed her head on the dock. "I'm getting too old for this." She grumbled.

"You said the Manipulator requires moving water?" He asked.

"Correct."

"Mary just completed stage three of her PEG. She's a dry ship now."

"How long has the Manipulator not had moving water?" Britannia asked, rising again.

"Hang on. I'll ask." He fired off a quick text and got an immediate response. "3 hours." He relayed. "Does the Manipulator have a backup system. Like a reserve battery?"

"Not that I know of. It wasn't that advanced. But ships can survive without oxygen for up to 4 hours. So if I were you, I'd get that oxygen pump or whatever it is that you do to pump water out of her lungs before it's too late!" She growled.