~ [High King Meridian] ~
Cold air moves in through the open grand doors of the massive balcony, with a view of the outside. “There are rumors of banditry in the south,” explains the advisor. “The lower regions are reporting a worrying number of missing patrols lately,” explains the man, tapping at the southern woodland regions. The woodland is an important area. It’s surrounded by farms on all sides. Even with the failing harvest, they can’t afford to lose what little food they can produce in the region.
Meridian rubs the bridge of his nose. “At least they’ve taken care of the goblins for us, if they’re taking residence in the forests,” he sighs, shaking his head. “Send a small troop to aid the local guard in exterminating them,” he orders. “The last thing we need is trouble from the inside,” he says.
“Yes, my lord.”
“What of our neighbors?” asks Meridian.
“They’ve taken note of our increase in fortifications near the border regions,” explains the military advisor. “Officially, they’re to deal with the increased goblin threat, but they know that’s just the political narrative,” he says, pointing at the map’s outer regions and pointing out some key points. “They’ve begun developing significant fortifications here, here, and here as well, by the river.”
“Damming the river breaks our standing water-treaties,” says the advisor of agricultural affairs. “They can’t do this!”
“It’s not dammed. The river runs freely,” explains the other man. “But they do seem to be building a dam to use when they need to,” he says. “We expect them to use the river as a bargaining chip, when the time is right.”
Meridian narrows his eyes. They’re in a disadvantaged position compared to their neighboring nation, through which the river flows to reach them. “Send them a reminder that damming the river will be a direct act of war,” he orders.
“My lord, our fortifications on the border could be viewed as a provocation in the same light,” replies the advisor. “It would be wise not to escalate tensions further.”
“I gave the order. Obey,” says Meridian, looking at the man, who silently nods in return.
“Yes, my lord.”
Meridian looks at the map. The walls are closing in. The southern region is falling into ungovernance. The other nations are readying themselves. Only the ocean remains, free and untroubled as it ever was.
He sighs, letting his finger rest on the paper.
Life as a retired man was much less stressful.
“No…” he says, lifting his gaze back to his advisor. “Forget my order. Unless we receive further signs from the heavens, do not escalate,” says the man.
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~ [Gottlieb] ~
[SEAL INTACT] Oxygen: 29:59
“Hold still!” says Gottlieb, trying to fiddle a helmet onto Rotwald. The harpy squawks and clicks with her mouth in protest, fidgeting and fighting against it until he locks the seal into place and lets go.
She looks around in confusion, staring through the inside of the helmet, trying to peck at its visor from the inside, but not quite reaching as the helmet moves with her head with every attempt.
Gottlieb grabs her, holding her still to check her suit. It’s a bit of a custom job, seeing as she doesn’t exactly have the human proportions that these suits were made for, but… well, it looks alright enough.
“Come on,” he says, standing her back upright and walking off towards the new section. Something flops behind him.
He looks over his shoulder, staring at the harpy, who clearly does not know how to walk in shoes of any sort, given that she’s taken an awkwardly large step and promptly fallen over. He helps her up to her feet, and she tries again, stretching her leg out too far and wobbling to the other side.
“Just walk like you usually would,” he replies, pointing down at his feet. “See?” asks the man.
“Scraw…” replies Rotwald, watching him uncertaintly.
“It’s only for a little while,” he explains. “Once we’re done, you can take it off again. But it’s dangerous without it,” he says, tapping the helmet.
She tries to ruffle her feathers, likely finding the sensation of doing so in the suit very uncomfortable, given that she looks around herself in surprise that something touched her while doing so — the material of the suit, blocking her feathers.
The harpy looks back at him and takes another step.
She falls over.
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Gottlieb looks at the door to the new section, marked off with a vividly yellow nuclear hazard warning sign that sure as hell wasn’t here back when he got the job.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
Geospatial Coordinator Rotwald clings to his back. She didn’t quite manage the whole walking thing.
“Okay. Let’s see what the problem is,” he says, moving towards the heavy door.
It doesn’t slide open immediately, like all of the others would. Instead, there is a loud hammering noise as some heavy pistons strike against metal. Then there comes a second one, and then a third, each of the blunt strikes echoing out throughout the station. Only then, after a second, does the door begin to open with a heavy, ominous groan.
Gottlieb grabs it, pulling it to the side as it’s a bit too slow for his liking. The door is heavy and thick, far more so than any of the others on the station. The thumping noise they had just heard was a series of locking pistons digging into the metal interior of the door that jammed it into the wall.
The two of them look inside the room.
“Ah… hell…” mutters Gottlieb. It’s glowing. The first thing that he sees is the vivid light coming his way from inside the space. Lining the walls are deep marks and scratches the size of his fists, running through the thick, reinforced metal. Glowing crystals sprout out of the walls and the floors in dark corners, where some liquid seems to be pooling.
The man steps inside, finding it somewhat troublesome to see through the glass of his visor in this environment. A constant chattering noise fills the room — the sound of old computer terminals ticking away, if he didn’t know better — and there is a low hum that comes from somewhere down in the distance.
Gottlieb walks forward, looking around.
A nuclear arsenal could be very interesting.
Sure, the gun is already a devastating, world-altering weapon, but who doesn’t like a little more spice in their life? Besides, he has to sort this mess before whatever is going on here triggers one of the bombs and blows them all to hell.
— His boot kicks something to the side. He looks down at it, identifying the object as a long trident. It’s a weapon, belonging to one of the nagas of the security team.
Gottlieb looks back up. "Well, they didn’t last long, did they?” he asks beneath his breath. Rotwald croons quietly over his shoulder. “Come on,” he says. “I don’t want to stay in here too long. Every minute longer is a chance more that I’m gonna grow wings and lay eggs in a year.”
The harpy clicks into his ear.
— Something heavy thuds out in the distance, the floor shaking. It sounds like it’s one of the security locks again, like in the door, but then it comes again a second time, before stopping. Then it comes again — two more.
Footsteps.
Gottlieb looks around the bend. There is a long corridor with two branches. The right one is collapsed in, the metal of the walls having been torn apart. Electrical wiring sparks in the air, showering down over a naga’s dead head. He looks at it before taking the left corridor.
The steps shake the floor again.
Blood smears are everywhere. Something was torn apart here, and very violently too, it looks like. Judging by the blue scales sticking to the blood on the walls, he can only assume it was another naga. They really had a bad run here.
Gottlieb looks around the bend, towards the final room in the area. It’s a hall of sorts, and he recognizes the bay doors at the far end of it as an exterior opening to the station. It’s a large bay, not unlike the cannon’s, but this one has the ability to seal itself. Large racks line the walls, with a rail system leading to the center of the bay, aimed towards the closed door.
And in the center of it, resting on a jumbled heap of broken metal — nuclear missiles that have been chewed and ripped into — sits a massive, hulking monster with two, short, muscular legs that are bent at an angle. Red, thick scales that have the color of dried blood adorn its crusty body, which is pegged with glowing rods that illuminate the darkness of the hall.
Something grabs his leg.
Gottlieb looks down at Security Officer Schwarzwasser, who is holding her eviscerated gut and shaking her head. She holds a finger to her mouth, gesturing for him to be quiet. Her scales are peeling off by themselves, with portions of her body essentially melting, as they drop off of her in large globs, rather than one at a time.
“Gross,” says Gottlieb, looking down at the smear her hand is leaving on his leg. She winces.
The humming intensifies.
A series of loud, thunking pulsations fill the room, as if rows of lights were being turned on in a large warehouse. Metal clamours as it rolls, disturbed, crushed, by the weight of the creature that begins to rise, disturbed. He turns to look at its eye on the side of its head, open and glowing with a faint, pulsating light.
Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees several overturned barrels that should have old fuel rods from nuclear reactors inside of them but clearly don’t. They’re overturned and crushed, with the water that was inside of them as well as outside of them as the fuel rods, which are all missing.
— The room shakes. A broken missile slams against the wall as a massive tail, spiked with scrap metal, swipes across the room.
This is going to be a problem.
Gottlieb drops Rotwald off of his shoulders. “Take Schwarzwasser out of here,” says Gottlieb, slowly walking to the side with his hands held forward, maintaining eye-contact with the creature. “Go,” he says, nodding the side of his head lightly.
Rotwald pulls on Schwarzwasser, and her torso separates from her lower half, which is unfortunate, as they both scream very loudly.
The reactor-beast roars, the air around it shaking, a pulsation pressing against him from the front, its open mouth and maw all the way down to the base of its throat filled with vivid, crystal blue Cherenkov-glow as it charges its mouth full. Gottlieb dives to the side, as the room turns into the radiating white of a fairy’s winter, the intense heat tangible even beneath the suit.
He tumbles, rolling behind a missile rack, as the beam of concentrated energy scorches along the wall, leaving a deep scar in it.
The muscular man dives out of his cover, grabbing a broken heap of metal that was likely a missile at some point, and charges towards the drake that roars and lumbers towards him, towering a head over him in height with its massive jaws open. He rams the missile inside of its mouth, and it bites down, yanking him to the left and the right as he tries to maintain his footing.
“KAI!” yells Gottlieb, relatively optimistic that Kai can still hear him. He looks out of the sides of his eyes. Rotwald and Schwarzwasser are gone. The monster hums, the fuel rods embedded in its body glowing intensely as it loads itself up for another blast. The metal in his hands becomes hotter. “OPEN THE DOORS!” he yells, having a fantastic plan to just throw the dragon out into space. The shine intensifies. “— KAI!” yells Gottlieb a second time, pretty sure he’s about to become dust.
The man doesn’t have time to do much of anything as the vacuum of space opens itself up, tearing loose metal and unsecured debris out past them. He jams the missile in further, trying to hold it back for a moment, as he is sent flying away.
The dragon roars, its blast first melting the missile in its mouth, spraying molten metal everywhere, and then running over the ceiling and the walls in a long streak as it’s knocked to the side too, by the whole missile that has begun moving over the single rail out towards the bay door.
Gottlieb spins, flying together with the dragon and the missile as they all hurtle out into the vastness of space. He grabs hold of the projectile, sticking a finger out to the dragon, which does its best to survive without air but does a very poor job at doing so nonetheless.
The man looks over his shoulder as he flies through space on the missile, heading straight down towards the planet.
Oh.
— Something grabs him. An unseen force.
Gottlieb is yanked free from what is presumably a nuke that he was secretly half-hoping to ride down to the world and begins floating back towards the station. He looks up at the orbital projectile catching device that sprouts out of the solar array and then back towards the lone missile that flies off towards the world’s surface.
It’s probably fine, right?
It’s just one.
Gottlieb silently floats back towards the bay, sparing a glance towards the dead dragon and then back towards the missile again.
Yeah.
It’s probably fine.
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~ [High King Meridian] ~
“My lord, if I may be so bold,” says his advisor of military affairs. “I too have reconsidered,” he says, shaking his head. “But perhaps it would be wise of us to make the first strike?” he says. Murmurs come from around the room, and he lifts his hands. “We all know that war is inevitable, whether the sun falls or not,” he says. “Why pretend that it won’t? Why wait until the sun fails before we move?” he asks, looking back at the king.
King Meridian looks at him and then down towards the map. “You ask much of me,” he says, weary. “In truth, I am but a man,” says the king. “A very old man,” he says.
“The gods chose you, my lord,” he replies. “What would you have us do?”
King Meridian looks at him and then at the others in the room. While there are some murmurs, there are no cries of vehement descent. The man’s logic makes sense.
Why wait?
It’s going to happen anyway, right? And this way, they can perhaps save more of their own people.
He sighs. “If only the gods would send us a sign, a light to guide our way,” he mutters, shaking his very tired head. “If only they could speak to us in such simple words.”
— A second light crests on the horizon that day, longer after the rising and setting of the sun. People yell all around the room, and he too turns to look, holding a hand to cover his eyes in part as the sun rises with fierce intensity for the second time that day, burning his vision and filling the halls of the castle with the glory of the heavens.
And then comes the roar.
A single, deafening cry strikes terror into the heart of the world, quaking the castle, his bones and the souls of all men and women within reach of its tremor. Nearly every piece of glass in the capital shatters, nearly every weakly framed house breaks, weakly framed person breaks, as the shockwave sends them flying.
By the time it is over and they all lay strewn about, the interior of the castle in shambles, the table overturned and broken, together with the map, Meridian finds he has his answer.
He looks over to the side at the advisor of war, whose skull has been violently cracked open by the impact, causing him to strike his head against the masonry.
“It would seem…” says King Meridian. “- that we have our answer,” he remarks. “There will be no war, until it comes to us,” he orders, and then lowers his head in reverence to the power of the heavens in thanks for taking such an impossible choice off his shoulders.