We entered near the Vasa’s stern.

The lion-crested figurehead, the emblem of Gustav, jutted over the lobby and over our heads.

From here, a cascade of masts and cannons receded into the distance.

The hull was dark from centuries underwater, interrupted by patches of fresh wood.

Below, a sign advertised a tour starting in a half hour.

“Where do you want to go while we wait?”

I looked at the enormous building, the structure suspended in the center of it.

“Maybe we just stay here.”

~

In time, a man arrived, standing beneath the bow with a laser pointer.

He wore a sports coat, polished shoes, and a beard trimmed with geometric precision. His hair was parted down the middle and bleached at the tips.

He waited until a small crowd gathered. Then he began.

“The king ordered her in 1625. Three years later, she sailed for the first time—and sank just a kilometer from port.”

I raised my hand, and the guide nodded in my direction.

“Three years? Did that seem like an impossible ask from the start?”

He shook his head.

“No. This is normal. It wasn’t the schedule that made her sink.”

I cocked my head to the side.

“What then?”

He paused.

“It was the ask.”

Someone behind me spoke now.

“What ask?”

The guide pointed toward the rows of gun ports.

“Sixty-nine meters long. Sixty-four cannons.”

He swept the laser pointer across the lower deck, then up to the deck above it.

“The king wanted more firepower, so he ordered a second gun deck.”

Someone in the group looked up at the ship.

“That sounds reasonable,” the guide said. “Except the ship was already too narrow for all that weight.”

He pointed toward the waterline.

“The shipwrights knew it. They tested the stability. She leaned too far.”

He tilted his hand sharply to one side.

“They tried again. Same problem.”

He lowered his hand.

“The king knew the tests had failed.”

I looked up at the enormous ship.

“And he launched it anyway?”

The guide nodded.

“The king wanted his ship.”

“Then, who got blamed for the sinking. Was it the shipwrights? Was it the king?”

The guide smiled.

“The shipwrights were Dutch. We love the Dutch.”

He cleared his throat.

“We love the Dutch.”

Again.

“We LOVE the Dutch.”

Someone chuckled.

He looked to a portrait of the king hanging in a display nearby.

“Look. We don’t blame the Dutch.”

~

Our tour stopped again on the lower floors.

A steel fingers reached up to support the ship’s weight.

Our guide had been talking of the salvage and its preservation techniques—past and future.

I leaned over the railings.

Then I noticed them—the markers.

They looked like red dice.

Years earlier, I didn’t remember seeing them.

Now they covered the hull.

Hundreds of them.

No—thousands.

“What are all those?”

“Sensors.”

He pointed toward the red markers.

“We measure the hull constantly. Movement. Moisture. Stress.”

I looked again.

“How much longer?”

The guide’s voice softened

“Two decades. Maybe three.”

He looked up the ship’s hull.

“She won’t last forever.

Then we all walked our separate ways.

~

After the crowd dispersed, Dani and I climbed the spiraling walkways to the upper galleries and found seats overlooking the ship.

From above, the red markers looked less like dice and more like warning lights.

They climbed the hull from keel to stern in uneven clusters.

Cameras hung from the walls.

Lasers crossed the air between.

Measuring every shift.

Watching the ship fall in slow motion.