A remote-controlled, robotic submersible slowly propelled itself forward, through the dark waters of the Calamarian ocean. It was moving forward at less than twenty knots, at a depth of 4101 meters, tiny repulsorlifts whining with the strain. Two miniscule infrared lamps illuminated its path, invisible to the vision of most creatures, save for the Great Arctic Skra'akans.
In the sub's control room, hovering twenty meters above the calm surface of Mon Calamari's North Baber Ocean, a male human sweated over the VR-type controls that enabled him to stay high-and-dry while his submarine robot moved on the seabed, two-and-a-half miles beneath him. His assistants watched computer screens that played video recordings that came from the robo-sub's external cameras.
Out of the blue, a dark, looming shape appeared within the vision fields of the submersible. The submersible turned on its lights - a great risk to its safety, because Mon Calamari's deep-sea denizens were attracted to any light in their domain - and revealed the shape to be the bow of an ocean liner, with a crow's nest that had fallen over, and nearly-transparent seaweed that grew all over the poop deck, like a forest of glass.
The people in the control room relaxed. This time they had found the ship, and the cameras had not been attacked – yet. They watched as their boss slowly piloted the robo-sub towards what had been the officer's quarters on the liner, where no plant life grew. The submersible landed on the quarters' roof, and unfolded its magnetic grasping claws. It was moved slowly towards the rear of the ship, where a gaping hole was situated.
The people always used this hole to enter the ship's interior, where they would begin their searching.
For a treasure that made all other treasures seem worthless. The Ankarres Sapphire, which had disappeared when the ship – the supposedly 'unsinkable' Titanic – had sank to the ocean's depths, eighty four years ago.
So far, they had found several datapads, which were currently being painstakingly restored, to gather more information on the sinking of the Titanic. They had also found several engineering schematics that were drawn on transparalon. An odd writing material, but strong enough to last for almost a century under the waves - all the better for them. Other than that, nothing, not counting several personal trinkets – a rusted blaster, wads of credit bills, the works - that they found in the first class lounges.
An alarm clock shattered the peace in the control room, snapping everyone's concentration. The boss threw his VR control set aside in frustration.
"Those bantha poodoo have to call when we're working, don't they?" he snarled, striding over to the wall mounted communications panel. He had promised an interview with the reporters of the Calamari Gazette, and he was never one to break his promises.
The panel came to life, and a smiling H'nemthe female spoke up, "Hello, Dr. Lovett. It's time…"
"For your sithspawn interview," he growled, "Hurry the frell up, or I'm gonna blow a cyberfuze!"