“Gravitational calibration chamber?” mutters Gottlieb, his eyes darting over a screen. “The astrological resource acquisition coordination office?” He turns his head to the side, looking at the monitor as the newly updated map of the station’s floor plan moves over, zooming out into a model of the station with entirely new sections jutting out of it in places where they certainly weren’t before. The station is growing by itself, it would seem. “Oh, hey, a recreation deck.” Gottlieb blinks, looking at the new room that is dangling off of the side of the station at the end of a new corridor. “Neat.”
[Remark]
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- The recreation deck is currently inhabited by monsters. It is not suitable for recreational purposes.
Gottlieb looks at the light. “I dunno, Kai. Fighting monsters sounds pretty recreational to me.”
A video feed appears on the screen. Interestingly enough, together with the new corridors, rooms, and everything else that has appeared, whatever ‘constructive force’ is powering these events has had enough foresight to also install Kai’s cameras in their designated locations.
Projected onto the screen is a live feed of a large, spread out room, inside of which is an array of fitness equipment, lounge chairs, and other such odds and ends. He thinks he can see a television out of the corner of the camera’s line of sight, but even if that were the case, it's doubtful there’s anything to watch except static.
The man squints, watching. But apart from a towel that falls from an unused treadmill’s handlebars, nothing really happens. “Kai. There’s nothing here.”
[Clarification]
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- The monsters are ghosts.
“Oh…” He stares at the screen for a while, waiting for any other sign of ‘life’. But nothing happens. “Well, as long as they stay in there. I guess ghosts are f-”
— A hollow, screaming face suddenly appears in the video feed, pressing itself against the camera. Gottlieb swears, kicking the desk and jumping back out of his seat. By the time he looks back from his sore leg and at the screen again, whatever was there is gone, leaving only the empty recreation room to see.
“Very funny, Kai,” says Gottlieb, shaking his head. “Jump scares are a new low, even for you though.”
[Response]
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- This was not my doing. It would seem that one of the ghosts inhabiting the area felt itself being watched and acted accordingly.
“Oh. Well, lock that room down tight then. I don’t want any ghosts getting out onto my station,” says Gottlieb. He presses a button. “Braungrube.”
[Remark]
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- I believe ghosts do not find themselves bothered by locks.
“Symbolically lock the door then. Get off my ass and be productive for a change, Kai,” remarks Gottlieb.
“Y- yes?” asks the minotaur from his platform over the communication’s channel.
“Figure out how we’re supposed to kill ghosts,” orders Gottlieb. He runs his fingers through his hair, rubbing his face in exasperation. He presses another button. “Blauhausen, how are the new segments looking? Any damage.”
The speaker hisses and crackles as she apparently fumbles with the radio. “Big spiders in the pipes,” explains the ooze. “Big rat!”
“A rat…?” asks Gottlieb.
“Ate,” replies the ooze.
“…Did you eat the rat or was it the spiders?”
It crackles for a while longer. He imagines the device is hard to use with slime for fingers. “Ate spiders and rat.”
Gottlieb raises an eyebrow. “Keep up the good work,” remarks the man, looking back at the monitor. “Kai. How likely is it that these new areas and monsters are going to cause the station to fail?” he asks, rubbing his forehead again. It’s only a matter of time until something crazy like a dragon or some obscure ancient mythological entity spawns in and ruptures the wall, ruining the integrity of the station.
[Remark]
If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
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- It is an inevitability.
I suggest controlling the situation through the escalating use of violence, social control mechanisms, as well as consistent strategic reevaluations of the situation.
Suggestion: Reestablish the orbital station security faculty.
This sounds very reasonable.
He can only do so much by himself, and the others aren’t really fighting types, except maybe Rotwald the harpy.
Gottlieb looks at the monitor. “Kai, you can spawn monsters, right?” he asks. “Like with the vampires? Make us a security team then.”
[Response]
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- Say ‘please’.
Gottlieb rolls his eyes and leans back, kicking his feet up. “No.” He stares at the blue light. The room is quiet.
[Response]
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- Orbital Gunner Gottlieb’s shower time has been reduced by ten seconds.
“Fine, please. Jackass.”
[Response]
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- Orbital Gunner Gottlieb’s shower time has been increased by ten seconds.
Gottlieb narrows his eyes. “Kai.”
“Can I have more time in the shower?” asks Grunheide, lifting her hand.
Gottlieb looks over at the goblin. “You’re small. You don’t need a lot of water.”
[Response]
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- Auxiliary Gunner Grunheide’s shower time has been increased by five seconds.
“Those are my five seconds, Kai,” says Gottlieb.
[Correction]
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- This statement is incorrect. They are mine.
I am in control of the water, as I am in control of the station as a whole. To envision that the orbital weapons platform is my body is also to imagine that the water is my life-blood, the electricity my pulse.
You reside within my womb.
He points at the monitor. “Kai. Cut the creepy robot-god speech. I will literally get up right now and break a hole into the piping with a screwdriver.”
[Response]
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- Orbital Gunner Gottlieb’s shower time has been reduced by five seconds.
Auxiliary Gunner Grunheide’s shower time has been increased by five seconds.
“Kai!”
“All hail the machine-god!” cries Grunheide.
Gottlieb looks at her. “Quit always playing the winning side, Grun, you sellout.” The man shakes his head.
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[High King Meridian] Human, Male, King Location: The Human Capital
“Goblins?” he asks, looking at his adviser. Goblins are the last thing that they need. The old man sighs, stroking his beard as he looks back towards the table of counselors who have gathered to discuss the current situation.
“Dozens of farms in the east have been burned to the ground,” explains the minister of national defense. “The harvests are either stolen or burned off as well.” He looks over to another adviser, the minister of agriculture. “Even if we send specialists from the capital today, it will take at least a year before we see any tangible results.” The other man nods in agreement with the statement.
“Have all national adventuring guilds create quests,” orders Meridian. “Provide them with the funds. Starting tomorrow, we will provide an additional subsidy for every dead goblin.” He looks at the minister of dungeons. “What do adventurers collect from the goblins when they harvest them?”
“Goblin teeth, your majesty. The canines. They sell for one Obol each, so four per goblin.”
Meridian nods. “It’s eight now, for the next three months.” He looks at the minister of finance. “Arrange it.”
"Yes, my lord,” replies the minister.
“Food shortages will become a problem soon, even without the goblins,” says the minister of agriculture. “With all of these dark days, most harvests have begun to fail anyway.” He shakes his head. “Livestock populations are stable, but with the increasing darkness, wild monsters are becoming bolder by the day.”
Meridian leans back on his chair, thinking for a while. The room is silent. The old man lifts his gaze, looking around the table at the others here. There’s a larger concern hanging over everyone’s head.
The sun and the gods.
The world is full of omens and signs these days, and he himself is in the very center of them. But to try and understand them, to interpret them, seems impossible. It’s as if one were simply at the whimsical behest of the heavens, who were sending strange, obscure signs that the greatest mystics and scholars have been working day and night to interpret.
The latest one was the artistry of a man, sliced into the world by the blade of God.
But why?
It is beyond human comprehension. However, in his many years, he’s learned it’s best to be prepared for all manner of situations. King Meridian looks at the minister of war. “Begin preparations across the nation. New walls, new lanterns, new training.” Meridian thinks. “Assume that the sun isn’t going to come back. I want us to be ready.”
“Yes, my lord. Ready for what? The goblins?” asks the minister.
Meridian shakes his head. “For the other nations.” He clasps his hands together. “With the sun out, we live by the treaties and agreements of the past,” he explains. “But when nobody has food and the world goes dark, old treaties won’t be read anymore.” He nods to the minister of magical development. “Focus your researcher’s efforts away from where they are now and have them work on finding new ways to fish. The ocean will provide for us, even in the dark.”
“My lord,” says the minister of foreign affairs. “We must take care. If we give the impression as a nation that we are panicking, our neighbors may attempt to take advantage of our perceived weakness.”
“We are weak,” says King Meridian. Murmurs come from around the table. “A few goblins, a few days without light, and one tumbled rebellion, and we’re already at the brink of collapse. An entire nation.” He looks around the table at them. “The gods are with us. I have been chosen to lead you, as you all saw with your own eyes.” The old man gets up. “When the night falls and the sun will not come up again, let us, as a nation, act as a beacon, a lighthouse for the world.”
He turns to leave. “Establish new outposts and fortifications along the borders. Use the goblins as justification.” Meridian grabs the door. “We’re going to be prepared for war from all sides.”