[ORIGINAL] - Eisenhower

Eisenhower is a world-building exercise I started without realising when I first had a dream about it a few years ago. Since then, I've been steadily adding fluff to it until I thought I was ready to write something up. Of course, criticism is greatly appreciated, be it constructive or not. ((On a side note, I have no idea where I'm going with this work. Not even a little bit. Right now it's serving as a frame for me to write down snippets of what I randomly dream up during the day.))



The clank of boots on cold steel gangways echoed through the dead husk of the kilometre-long ship. Picked dry by scavengers already, this relic from the Colonial Era didn’t have a shred of value left in it. Even some of the metre-thick hull had been removed by some hard-working metalleers. But then again, the traveller weren’t looking for something to sell.

The crew quarters stretched for a good two hundred metres, all sloping crazily to port. Not a single light had been left untouched by the scavengers, and all the beds had been removed. The traveller went past without a second glance. On the engineering deck- third floor, past the iron door frame, its occupant long gone, that was where the scavengers had stopped- For while that door made easy pickings, the second, even bigger one behind it had resisted what the traveller estimated was several hundred years of erosion and gunpowder, judging by the myriad of blast-marks and scratches on it.

However, it gave no resistance to the traveller’s Key- a curious, well-worn piece of brightly coloured material that bent to the touch, yet returned to its original shape when released. The traveller tapped the Key to an indicator to the side of the second door, as her journal had said. With a hum of ancient machinery and the rattle of sand hitting floor far below, the metal folded inwards, and the traveller jumped down into the darkness. A small shard of Lillium served as light as the traveller ventured deeper, but soon that was unneeded as the traveller soon came across the first untouched lights, glaring bright yellow against the dark without a single flicker to show for their unbroken vigil. Grey steel, faded with age, lined the doors and floor- a curious sight to the traveller, who was used to the more golden-bronze of the brass that more often used on Braais.

One final monolithic door gave way before the traveller’s Key, revealing the heart of the ship. Sixteen cylinders lanced from the depths below to the room, all but one rotating silently. The thrum of unharnessed energy crackled across the traveller’s skin as she smiled. The Infinity Cylinders were still alive. To the right of the room was an old device, something that the traveller’s journal referred to as a ‘console.’ Its screen was cracked from the impact of the ship’s demise, but with a vigorous slap to the flank of the machine, it glowed blue and self-diagnostics began to crawl up the display. The traveller consulted her leather-bound book and carefully tapped out several codes into the machine, then turned her gaze back towards the Cylinders.

Steam exploded from what seemed like every opening in the room with an angry hiss, almost blinding the traveller as she groped her way back towards the entrance, then the entire ship rumbled and shook, dispelling huge amounts of rust flakes, dust, and sand from the ceiling. The traveller raced out of the room, falling over and scrabbling at the walls in a desperate attempt to keep her balance. Out of Engineering, back through Crew Quarters, and up this time, taking the stairs three at a time as a miraculously untouched railing shook itself out of its bracing and dropped a dizzying height to the floors below. A piece of catwalk gave way as the traveller bolted across it- she fell all of six metres before the sharp crack of her Dissuader sounded above the rumbling- a sharp spang and sparks as its argentite tip embedded itself in the room and the short and almost silent whirr of unravelling steel fibre as the traveller swung herself across the chamber and into the doorway beyond.

Her Lillium crystal came out again, illuminating a map in her book- left, then right, past the three doors on the right, and up one last set of stairs- the traveller nearly slammed into the door. One last tap from her Key, one final code keyed into the panel to the right, and the traveller stumbled into the bridge. Again, the door had prevented the scavengers from getting in, and apart from a cloud of dust shaken up from the ship’s reactivation, everything was untouched- and even the consoles were now powering up, drawing energy from the Infinity Cylinders below. Without missing a beat, the traveller flung herself in front of a console marked NAVIGATION and began to feverishly flick through her journal. She found the page, slammed the book down beside her, and with occasional glances at the instructions within, began to work the controls.

The two buttons on the left fired the port roll rockets- the traveller punched them and fell over as the ancient caps in front of the mechanisms detached with a crack- then the rockets fired with a sharp bang. Ignoring a cut on her brow from her tumble, the traveller picked herself and her book off the ground as the ship began to roll to the right, freeing itself from the mountain it had collided against, and returned to the task at hand. The arch-shaped viewing screens at the front of the bridge flickered to life- five out of the six, at least, showing rapidly righting desert hills, brown in the night against the vivid navy blue of the sky- dominated by the huge Satellite in orbit.
The rockets flickered and died- the ship groaned as its ancient metal supports took on the weight of its superstructure again- the scavengers had thankfully left most of the huge metal support beams intact- only the aft hangars collapsed and even that proved to be repairable a few months later. Its maneuvering blade, as thick as an observation tower and twice as high, dug into the sand and sank in a healthy distance. Steam exploded from the flanks of the ship as the traveller brought the Infinity Cylinders up to three cycles - its external lights flickered on and the horn bleated. The ship was underway.

There remained one last objective- the traveller keyed in a command for self-navigation, and produced a second Dissuader from her pack- a break-action Condor .60 made for firing all sorts of large shells. She located and scampered up a ladder at the rear of the bridge that led to the Battle Deck- a fenced area exposed to the outside, offering a commander full view of the battle before him and allowing him to observe his enemy’s tactics to the fullest. The Dissuader broke open with a smooth click, and she rammed a large orange-tipped flare into the receiver, the traveller raised the Dissuader high above her head, and squeezed the trigger.

The flare exploded upwards with a whistle and a lingering trail of green smoke that soon billowed away- the warhead detonated above her, turning the desert neon green for a few seconds- three orbs of green, in a triangle. The darkness returned, until a red flare burst in response- two orbs, vertical line. The captain smiled as her people, piloting all sorts of ragtag Skimmers and capital vessels rushed towards the ship- their ship.

“Master Caution Warning- check Lillium Potency and throttle position!”

Kasturba acted fast- she twisted the Lillium cut-off valve, disengaged the safety cover on the discharge switch, and pushed it into the forward position. A series of staccato cracks shook the cockpit as sixteen explosive bolts detonated in the hull, dropping the corrupted Lillium Condenser away from the Gambit. The sixteen Lillium canisters on the assembly sealed immediately and ejected, spewing bright blue sparks all over the almost-white sands of the plateau. Containers dotting the Condenser vented protective physics-foam over the entire thing, and it planted itself firmly in the sand after a few seconds.

Meanwhile, Kasturba was struggling with the controls- the Skimmer boasted all the aerodynamic ability of a brick without its Condenser, and while it had travelled at over six hundred kilometres an hour before the corruption, it was barely above the ground now, flaps and control surfaces uselessly still without Lillium input. Kasturba pumped the starter cord for manual input, waited for the distinctive hiss of pressurised air, and worked the controls experimentally- the Skimmer fluttered half-heartedly. She swore quietly and tried again- no response. “No input!” she called.

“No input!” repeated Langley, hunched over behind her in the navigator’s cockpit. He glanced at his instruments. “Air pressure at zero per square inch- we must have sprung a leak.”
The pilot ignored him. “Landing check!” Her hands flew over the controls, extending the landing skids and rigging the Skimmer for a crash landing. The ground rushed up to meet them- she hit the pitch-up correction rocket. The device fired with a roar and the nose rotated skywards. Langley tapped the airbrakes- well, at least she still had those- and coaxed the Gambit onto its skids at over one-hundred and twenty kilometres over maximum safe landing speeds. Needless to say, the skids failed immediately, and the Skimmer lurched into the sand, clogging its air intakes and shunting both crew members forward in their seats. The Gambit slid for a fair distance before finally coming to rest, steam billowing from its airbrakes.

Langley was the first to detach himself from his safety rigging, sliding out of the cockpit and onto the sand. He walked around to the pilot’s cockpit and examined the overambitious girl spread over the instrument panel. Her safety rigging wrapped itself loosely around her shoulders. Langley sighed. “This is why you shouldn’t loosen your rigging, Kat. ” Kathleen Kasturba groaned noncommittally and slumped over as he hit the locks. “How far away is Seltzer?” Langley crouched down beside the Skimmer and opened a storage compartment, revealing several thick and padded leather straps. “About three kilometres, I’d say? We glided a pretty hefty distance after we purged.”

Kasturba moaned and let herself fall out of her seat. Langley clipped the one of the straps to his belt and the other on hers. “Hey, don’t complain. It was your idea anyway.” He attached the two straps to the nose of the Skimmer as Kasturba rolled over onto her back to face the sky. “Enjoying revelling in my failure yet?” Langley grinned. “Consider it revenge for dragging me all the way out here. I had better things to do than to time your experiments. ” He glanced at the stopwatch. “We covered a kilometre in twelve seconds including when the Condenser corrupted, by the way.” He pulled Kasturba to her feet and the two of them began to walk towards the tower in the distance, dragging the Skimmer behind them.

“What went wrong?” asked Kasturba almost to herself a few minutes into the hike. Langley snorted. “Why are you asking me?” He blinked. “Well, in all seriousness, I don’t think the ‘5000s can handle sixteen injectors. There’s just too much load on the condenser and we’ll break the thing trying to process it all unless we get at least some certified 7000s. Guess the most we’ll be getting out of this one are six-second sprints.”

***

The presentation was held in the project headquarters lounge, even more lavishly decorated with velvet curtains, potted plants, and ultramodern furniture for this occasion. The room sat at the very top of the respectably-sized space station overlooking the construction project, allowing the reporters full view of the gargantuan starship taking form underneath it from the five-centimetre thick glass windows on all four walls. For Aragua CEO Marcus Rosenthal, today would be the defining moment of his career. The sixty-something brushed back his over-gelled hair and managed his best smile for the cameras as he tapped the microphone for attention.
Rosenthal waited patiently for the quiet murmuring amongst the journalists to die down, and then gestured melodramatically towards the starship below. “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. I trust that you didn’t experience too much vomiting on your flight here-” He waited for the quiet laughter to die down-exoatmospheric transitions were notoriously sickening for those unused to the sudden loss of gravity- then continued. “As you all know, the purpose of this press conference is to shed some more light on the Noble, which is obviously finishing construction beneath us.”

Right on cue, holographic projectors beamed spinning displays of the finished product above the journalists’ heads- ridiculously overdramatic fly-throughs of its engine cores, cut-away views of the interior of the vessel- every single trick in the book was used by the Marketing Department to haul this ideal across to the general public. “As you all know,” began Rosenthal, “The Noble is the first in the Vindicator-class Colony Vessels, the pride of Aragua Colonisation. This ship represents the pinnacle of human achievement. She measures over eight hundred thousand kilometres from bow to stern, and packs a total atmospheric loading of six hundred thousand kilotons. She carries no less than sixteen frigate escorts in specially designed roll-out bays and fourteen hangar totalling three-thousand in-atmosphere and exoatmospheric fighters. Our projected crew capacity is five hundred thousand employees, including maintenance, colonists, force application and research personnel.”
The projectors now displayed a detailed diagram of the ship’s outer hull. “The Noble boasts no less than three hulls for maximum protection, each a two-metre thick cera-fibre mesh that provides unprecedented defence against micro-meteor impacts up to and including two hundred kilometres per second. The Noble can lose up to ninety percent of her critical structure modules and continue to be mission capable, as well as-”
A hand shot up from within the crowd, belonging to a bespectacled and short little man who looked like he had been hit by a shock baton a few times. His legs had not stopped shaking for the entire presentation, and Rosenthal had noticed his rather exaggerated way of writing on his datapad with some annoyance. “Sir- Sir! Mr. Rosenthal?” Rosenthal squinted to read the name tag on the man’s shirt and gave up. He scowled internally- questions were to be handled after his presentation. “Yes?”
“What you’re describing here seems more like a military vessel- and you still haven’t revealed to the world what the Noble is actually built for. As far as my research on the topic goes, we’ve colonised all the known possible planets in all known parts of the Local Cluster, apart from-”

Rosenthal raised his hand, deciding to skip to the important bits. “Well, about that question, why don’t we have a bit of a history lesson first?” After a moment’s confusion, the employees managing the projectors skipped through a few hundred credits worth of exposition on the Noble’s revolutionary power supply and launched into the meat of the presentation. Rosenthal stepped to the right. “Roughly two thousand years ago, when the first rudimentary colonisation ships- headed of course, by Aragua Colonisation left the Origin System and headed out for the Lyra constellation to mark the first few steps in human colonisation of outer space, they were looking for the radical metallic element Lillium to power their ships. Even today, Lillium remains at the core of modern colonial efforts, with 80 percent of colony vessels designated for mineral resource extraction. However, I’m sure we all know that Lillium is beyond rare- even today, every planet we scour has only trace quantities of Lillium that must be carefully extracted and purified from the ground. It took over sixty years for enough Lillium to be harvested from all across the galaxy for one Infinity Cylinder to be manufactured. Of course, until we discovered the legendary planet- Braais.”
The same reporter stuck his hand up. “But-but-but Mr. Rosenthal- that was one thousand five hundred years ago! If I remember correctly-” Rosenthal sighed melodramatically. “Of course. Faraday Resource Management completely failed to colonise the planet- a literal treasure trove of Lillium- initial reports stated that literal rivers of the stuff flowed in underground networks- It was a prime opportunity, a discovery that could have fuelled economic development and scientific advancement for centuries! Imagine, if you will, a fleet of thousands, not the measly forty starships we have today- how much more developed would we be, how many conflicts and disputes would not have occurred if we simply had more Lillium?” He paused for effect. “However, their CRADLE-class colony vessel was struck by an unknown crisis- equipment failure, civil dispute, or any number of factors could have been attributed to the cause. In any case, the important fact was that the colonising effort was unsuccessful.” Rosenthal looked up at his audience, leaning forward in expectation.

“And now, we have going to achieve what should have been achieved already. With the Noble, Aragua Colonisation is going back to Braais.” The presentation room exploded into excited chattering- journalists keyed notes into their datapads like madmen and fired off streams of emails to their editors. Again the hand went up, the reporter’s eyes as wide as saucers. “Mr. Rosenthal! Mr. Rosenthal! What- what about the Lillium Aurora?” The reporter was practically shouting over the hubbub in the room, but at the first mention of the Aurora, the people went silent. Rosenthal smiled smugly. His best researchers had toiled on this problem for a few years now. The Lillium Aurora Storm had proven impenetrable- A phenomenon that had occurred a few years after Faraday had claimed colonisation rights over Braais, the Lillium Aurora Storm inexplicably appeared in the regions immediately surrounding the planet’s local system. Only one attempt was made to breach it- and the ship that did had reappeared two years later, gutted to the core and without survivors.

“My friend, allow me to introduce the first Lillium-field neutralisers in the universe- mounted on these two prongs on the bow of the vessel-” Rosenthal ignored the wince from the lead engineer as he heard the mannerism and glanced at his notes. “- These project a constant magneto-dynamic resonance field in a sphere around the ship and its immediate escorts, thus allowing them to neutralise the effects of the Aurora Storm and continue on through normal space. We have field-tested these devices a few weeks ago, and I’m very pleased to say that they are fully operational. If you want some more information on them, our chief engineer will be on-deck to provide assistance if necessary. Armed with these and a myriad of other cutting edge technology, Noble will be bringing back the future. My apologies for the short briefing, but I hope that your guided tour of the starship, which will commence in half an hour, will shed some more light on its interior details. For now though, please enjoy yourselves for the time being. I’ll be back to take more questions in a few minutes.” He smiled one last time and stepped down from the podium as the room erupted into applause. He could vaguely see the annoying reporter from before shouting company praises at the ceiling in feverish excitement.

“Is that guy from NewTech Magazine?” asked Rosenthal under his breath to an aide as he retreated to a prep room. “You got it, sir.”
Rosenthal scowled and looked back at him. “I have a feeling we’ll be seeing more of him in the future. Keep an eye on him, would you? I don’t want him getting lost and finding something he shouldn’t be looking at.”
***

SKIMMER


A Racing Skimmer and Courier Skimmer (the Gambit)

With modern technology and ones skilled in its use having been lost to the wildlife, wilderness or other misfortunes brought about from the effort of surviving on the surface, a uniquely Braais-esque solution was to be found. Combining the utility of a family car with the mobility of a fighter, a Skimmer is a lightweight, low-maintenance and inexpensive vehicle that has seen nearly unrivalled expansion into a myriad of roles as its simple, yet rugged design was adopted by militarists, settlers and adventurers alike, resulting in a multitude of designs across the world.

Primarily constructed out of aluminium and brass, a Skimmer harnesses the ambient Lillium in the atmosphere of Braais, harvesting it and condensing it momentarily into liquid form using a water-powered Condenser assembly. Once the Lillium has been processed, it is stored in several canisters that feed the main propulsion system, a brass rig that fires Kepler-Terreich energy extracted from the Lillium along its length, exploiting the Lillium phenomena that the rest of the galaxy's intellectual's would call "The Second Violation of the Conservation of Energy" (The first being how Kasturba can run on no food, water, or sleep for five days on record when she is on a roll). The process, which generates both forward thrust and lift, remains a mystery to the people of Braais, who have wisely learned to accept most things at face-value, unlike the rest of the galaxy. Ambient Lillium is a ground-hugging gas, so Skimmers generally perform better the lower they are to ground level.

Since it's conception as a family transportation vehicle, the Skimmer has seen several modifications both its airframe and Condenser assembly, and each vehicle is subjected to additional modifications to fit its owner's needs- every Skimmer is uniquely tailored to perform the roles expected of it, easily facilitated by its modular abilities. Nearly every part of a Skimmer can be modified and replaced with specialised variants, whether they be the cockpit, Condenser, airframe, stabilisers, or internal structure. Whether used for transportation, warfare or adventuring, a Skimmer is a welcome addition to any user's pool of resources.

Langley breathed out and wiped his forehead. “Alright, I guess that does it. “He slapped the flank of the recovered Corsair 5000 and rolled out from under the Gambit, glancing at the time as he did so. “If there’s nothing else for me to do, I’m going back to Rotas’s shop.” Kasturba sat cross-legged on a stool in the corner of the garage, humming absentmindedly to herself and chewing on a pencil. Langley sighed. “Kat.” Kasturba ignored him until Langley pushed down her notebook- she started and looked up at him. “I said I’ll be at Rotas’s place if you need any more help.”

She blinked at him. “Sure, man.” Langley turned around and headed for the exit. “I already said you won’t get any more speed out of those 5000’s.” He bent down and threw his coat over his shoulders. “Watch me!” yelled Kasturba as he pushed through the door and into the dry desert heat.

Rotas’s Map Emporium was a rather oddly-designed affair: it sort of slanted to one side like it had started to melt in the heat, and the door was half-smashed because of a particularly violent price disagreement with a customer a few weeks earlier. The old mapmaker had gone off somewhere, probably down to the local watering-hole, as usual. Langley didn’t mind- he got paid either way. The interior of the shop was filled with the musty scent of thousands and thousands of maps stored in bins, old beer barrels, and a myriad of other containers that Langley and Rotas had scavenged from the local area. A single oil lamp flickered uncertainly from the roof as Langley eased himself on the creaky old stool behind the simiarily ancient heavily-modified crate that served as a table. As usual, the shop was empty, and Langley quietly plotted on his charts with a piece of charcoal.

The first customer of the day (or even the week) came in a few hours later, when he was about to close down for the night. Langley examined the lanky man, most likely an Adept judging from the well-worn shepherd’s crook he held loosely in his right hand. “Hey there, stranger. What’re you looking for?” The Adept smiled. “I’m headed for New Kingsford-Smith. Have you got any maps of the region?” Langley rocked back on his chair in thought.
“Kingsford-Smith, eh? We do have some maps of the local area. What business do you have over there?”

The Adept shrugged. “Work, I guess. I hear there’s plenty of it in Kingsford.” Langley got off his stool and began to rummage through a chest of drawers. “Yeah, I heard some people were killed by some Drones looking around the ruins nearby. If you’re looking to replace them you’d better know how to handle yourself.” The traveller grunted indecisively. “I’d take my chances. The pay’s pretty good and four square meals a day.” Langley found the maps he was looking for and spread them out on the crate-turned-table.

“Alright,” he began. “The big map is a regional map, shows all major trade routes and transit points in the area.” Langley took some charcoal and drew a perfectly straight line, tracing a northern trade lane that passed through several settlements and ended up at the complex mess of lines, numbers and names that was New Kingsford Smith. “Your best bet is to join up with the Kartoffel-Sparger trade lane- that runs a few kilometres directly east of Seltzer. After that it’s smooth sailing through Rube, Karotte, and Sellerie until you get there. If you get lost, the smaller maps show you the immediate area around the towns. Easy enough, right?”
The Adept produced a money pouch from within the folds of his robe. “How much?” Langley folded up the maps and looked up at him. “Twenty five for all three of these. Plus ten more if you want some charcoal.” The traveller baulked, but shook out some notes from his wallet. “I’ll skip on the charcoal, thanks. Do you know where there’s a place I could stay the night? Preferably somewhere with a shower and a bed, though I’ll take any place I can get for fewer than fifty kons.”
Langley jabbed a thumb towards the left wall. “Greasy Spoon Motel is right down the road. Bed and grub for thirty kons, with plenty of water to go round. A minute for a wash, would you believe that? In fact, I’m about to finish up here- we can go together and get some food.” The traveller picked up the maps and smiled. “One minute showers, eh? Might end up staying here a bit longer than I planned, then.” The two of them exited the Emporium, Langley twisting the oil lamp off and locking the door.

The Greasy Spoon was two stories high and bustling with evening activity. The constant clink of silverware on ceramic and the low murmur of voices could be heard from a fair distance away as the two approached. Langley pushed open the door and led the traveller into the dining floor. Several waitresses bustled around the room, holding huge portions of Sand-Boar and kinaki root, while the patrons laughed and chattered amongst themselves. Langley frowned- the room was completely full- before spotting Kasturba, waving furiously from a table in the back corner. He smiled and pulled the traveller over.
“You shouldn’t blow your budget this soon, Kat. We haven’t even gotten out of home yet, and you’re already splurging?” Langley was almost shouting. Kasturba pulled a face at him. “Oh, shut up. I’ve still got rolls of kons back home.” She turned to face the traveller. “Who’s your friend?”

“Call me Aldan.”

“He was looking for a place to stay the night, so I brought him here.” explained Langley. Kasturba nodded. “I see.” Her face brightened. “Also, you were wrong- I thinned out the secondary charging tube and bam! Got her Lillium potency to sixty-seven kilojoules!” She brandished a notebook in front of him. Langley’s eyebrow must have set a new altitude record as he examined the hastily scribbled calculations. “You do realise that if there is just one tiny imperfection in that tube, your Skimmer will be as useless, right?” Kasturba sorted. “I took her out for a test run straight after I was done- Light. As. A. Feather.” Langley slid the notebook across the table to her. “Well, if it’s working, I guess you did a good job. What’s her fuel efficiency?” Kasturba took a sip of mead and flashed a wide grin. “Two hundred kilometres per gram.”

“Sorry to intrude,” coughed Aldan. “But are you going somewhere as well?”

Kasturba spun to face him. “Yep- New-” A waitress cleared her throat softly behind them. “Uh, excuse me, but are you ready to order? You’ve been here for a while…”
“Oh, sorry. Got a bit caught up.” Langley laughed sheepishly and the three of them made their orders. “Anyway,” resumed Kasturba as the waitress strutted away, “We’re headed to New Berlin.” Aldan, who was taking a deep draught from his cup, exploded into a coughing fit. “New Berlin?” He said after recovering. “That’s, uh, a bit ambitious. Just a bit.” Langley smiled and reached for his cup. “I know, right? I’m tagging along for the ride because I need to finish my cartography apprenticeship and join the Guild, but Kat here, I-”

“Hey, hey, hey.” Kasturba reached into her vest pocket and produced a red ticket. “I’ve got an immigration pass. Langley has one too, but-”
“- I’m going to give it to somebody who wants it on the way there.” Langley shrugged. “New Berlin isn’t my kind of thing, anyway.” Kasturba blanched. “Hey! We both know that’s not happening.” The cartographer shrugged and took a swig. “We’ll see.” Another waitress returned to the table, passing out plates stacked up with huge slabs of meat. Aldan viciously attacked his. “Say, have you two heard of Eisenhower?” Langley glanced at Kasturba, who fumed back at him. “Well, we have.” he said after realising she wasn’t going to talk for him. “Old Tangle won’t shut up about it. Says Eisenhower was the name of some great ruler from a nation long ago. He’s told everybody in Seltzer about him.” He snorted. “We all think he’s gone senile. And when I went to Kartoffel, some busker was singing a song about how Eisenhower was the name of some hero that took down a tyrant with nothing but a cactus on a stick.”

“Well,” began Aldan, chewing quickly. “When I was in Bohne, I heard Eisenhower was a star in the sky somewhere, completely covered in fresh water. How great must that be?”

“I don’t think it would be that good- where would we stand?” Langley smiled wryly and shoved a piece of Sand-Boar into his mouth. “Still, fresh water is always welcome around here.”

“Maybe if you want fresh water, you can go to Berlin!” growled Kasturba quietly. Langley glanced at her. “I dunno, advertising can get away with some pretty bad things right now.” Kasturba looked like she was about to explode. “They have this thing over there- sometimes, water just falls from the sky! It’s called-” The other two erupted into fits of coughing and hissing. Kasturba shot to her feet, on the verge of frustrated tears- tried to say something, managed only a strangled squeak, and tore out of the Greasy Spoon. Langley watched the door slam shut behind her. “We, uh, may have taken this a little too far.” Aldan reached for Kasturba’s untouched portion. “Well, I can’t complain.”

Kasturba threw the canvas courier’s bag into the starboard luggage canister and kicked it closed. “I can’t believe you even said that.” Langley was sprawled out over the navigator’s seat, consulting his maps and plotting travel routes. “What could I have said? It’s nearly impossible to get the New Berlin- heck, half the population thinks it’s a fake.” Kasturba spun to face him. “You did a pretty good job of pretending to laugh yesterday.” The navigator tilted his head back to look at her. “I try.” He blinked. “Come on Kat, lighten up- I’m still going to New Berlin.” Langley folded up his map and tucked it into his vest. “That rain thing you’ve been talking about seems pretty neat.”

***

“Flare signal from the August, captain! Five-spouter, seven o’ clock relative and heading north-north-east!”

Captain Pierce Wentworth scowled. “Five-spouter?”

“Aye, ma’am.” The Vauban had taken three-spouters, even a four-spouter once, but she wasn’t going to risk going after a five-spouter by herself. “Alright, bridge. We’re playing this one by the books.” She could see Ottoman’s shoulders slump, and she sighed to herself. This would not reflect her supporters back at the Brood.

Wentworth was one of the more intense topics of discussion above the Brood’s ruling council- from leaving her post aboard the Impetuses as a battle advisor at twenty-six and buying an old corvette with her own money, Wentworth had single-handedly managed to feed the entire Brood from her catches- but at the same time stepped on all of the culture and traditions the Brood had fostered since their conception- throwing her corvette around like it was a fighter, yet mounting and landing finishing harpoons like a battleship. To many conservatives around the council, Wentworth was their greatest enemy- a revolutionary evolutionist, and they constantly pelted the Brood with pleas to exile her- yet to many others, Wentworth was a symbol of progress- somebody who wasn’t afraid to question the effectiveness of the Brood’s ancient hunts, a visionary and the one which would lead the Brood into a new era of prosperity. The decision to grant the Vauban the ceremonial title of Trapper, normally reserved for cruisers and up, had split the Brood in half. Not being able to do her usual solo act on this one would be a blow for the conservatives.

“Flag signal from the Impetuses! Admiral Wickham orders all ships to engage per normal procedures.”

Wentworth’s mood darkened. She could imagine Wickham sprawled atop his seat, oozing smugness as he placed emphasis on ‘normal’. Wickham was one of the more vocal critics of her solo hunts, probably because she stole all his catches. Still, there was nothing she could do about it. The captain cupped her chin in her palm and sighed. “Form up with the Oslon and Tolstoy and bring us up to two cycles.”

“Aye, captain. Helm answering turn to bearing zero-two-niner and accelerating to two cycles.” Ottoman swept the horizon with his eyeglasses. “Reconnaissance vessels Autumn and Plato withdrawing from the hunt. The Impetuses and her escorts adjusting heading to three-five-fiver.”

“Anything else?”

“No, ma’am.” Wentworth rapped her hands across the armrest impatiently for a few seconds, then resorted to a visual inspection of the Vauban’s bridge to alleviate her bad mood. The captain’s seat was at the very rear of the bridge, with the exit to the immediate port and the captain’s battlestation right in front of it. In front of that were the consoles- Navigation, Engineering, Weapons, Intelligence and the Helm. The viewing windows were caked in a film of dust and sand from outside, but they didn’t show much out from their limited field of view anyway. First Mate Francis Ottoman, manning the Intelligence console was their eyes and ears- the only one with access to a periscope in the cramped quarters of the bridge. Suspended above the room on three chains was the Vauban’s hunting shrine. Usually only reserved for capital ships, the intricately carved piece of wood displayed the corvette’s number of successful hunts: thirty-nine. Wentworth had been hoping to make it forty on this run, but it was the last hunt of the stint, and they would have to go back to docks to rearm and refuel after this engagement.

The Brood hunted Sweepers- hulking, whiskered monstrosities that looked like the offspring of a Lindwurm and a Broadfish but a million times larger- the smaller ones were twice as big as the Impetuses- itself over four hundred metres from bow to stern. Those were the one-spouters and two-spouters. Sweepers were perfectly adapted to living on Braais- their gills filtered the oceans of sand on the upper surface, finding and consuming any crystals of the Lillium that had been buried in there in massive quantities. Wentworth wasn’t sure how they converted the crystal into energy, but they did- one five-spouter had been on their scopes for over six years, evading or powering through all attempts to harpoon it until it was finally taken out in a one-in-a-lifetime operation utilising all the vessels in the Brood’s arsenal. Sweepers produced a Lillium destabilisation field around them- the ‘doldrums’ whenever they vented the corrupted Lillium particles left behind after they ‘ate’ it- making the close-in harpoon an extremely risky affair- ships had to move in close enough for the harpoon to penetrate, but too close and the Infinity Cylinders would die- pulling your ship into the flank of the Sweeper and crushing you against it- not exactly the best way to die.

“Visual contact!” reported Ottoman, “Distance, two miles and closing fast.” Wentworth had lost herself in reflection- she started and blinked for a few seconds. “General quarters- all hands man their battlestations!”
“General quarters! All hands man your battlestations!” parroted Ottoman into the ship-wide communications. The crew of the Vauban sprang into action, securing loose items to table tops and racks with liberal application of tape, locking down non-combat rooms and donning armoured survival vests with flares and rations in case they were knocked off the corvette . The distant clank of boots on gangway and the clink of rigging being pulled into place echoed throughout the bridge, while the entire Vauban shook with activity. Wentworth got to her feet and did one last visual inspection of the bridge as her crew strapped themselves in.

“Status of the Oslon and Tolstoy?”

“Maintaining formation behind us. Do you need me to relay a message?”

Wentworth nodded. The two corvettes had been requisitioned from the Brood’s hunts in the North, where the finer sands and higher Lillium saturation made for easier manoeuvring. Here in the Yarrow Desert, their crews were inexperienced and she didn’t want them to slow her down. “Two flares: Accelerate to five cycles and prepare to engage. Fire on my mark only.”

“Accelerate to five cycles and prepare to engage, fire on our signal only- aye ma’am, flares away.”

The two rockets exploded off the side of the Vauban and blossomed into intricate circles, which were immediately answered by a bracket of acknowledgement flares from the two corvettes behind them. “How long till we’re in range?”

“Thirty seconds, ma’am.” Right on time, Wentworth thought to herself. “Prepare long guns one through three for action and load them with direct-action incendiary charge shells. Sound battle klaxon and accelerate to five cycles- Arm fore and aft yaw rockets for immediate use.” The clang of the klaxon echoed through the ship, followed by the metallic clank as the Vauban’s three bow turrets rotated into position, gun crews loading metre-long shells into their receivers and Sean Tetrarch on Weaponry ran the gunnery formulas. “Flare signal from the Tolstoy! Both corvettes are ready to fire on our mark.” Wentworth grinned with enthusiasm despite her earlier misgivings. “Fire!”

The three turrets slung their payload into the air with a thunderous roar, echoed a few seconds later with the report of the other two corvettes’ guns. Sixteen glowing bundles of high-explosive incendiary mix screamed across the desert and splashed across the flank of the Sweeper as it broke across the surface to vent. The explosions blossomed on the horizon, and Ottoman hastily pressed his face to the lenses of his periscope to assess the damage- but it wasn’t required.
The Sweeper exploded from the sand, smoke billowing from its blackened flanks, howling with rage. It arched high over the three corvettes, eyes rotating madly to find the one which had injured it. “Load turrets four through six with incendiary airburst shells and reverse course!” Wentworth spun to face Ottoman. “Plot me an evasive course to the main fleet!” The bridge tilted as metal creaked under the stress- the Vauban swung herself around on her manoeuvring fins and accelerated away from the Sweeper as it crashed to earth, shaking the corvettes violently and kicking up a huge plume of sand.

“Oslon and Tolstoy matching our turn and dispersing- Oslon and Tolstoy firing!” Wentworth slapped her armrest. “All available guns, give me continuous fire on the Sweeper!” The Vauban erupted into clouds of white smoke and steam as her guns crackled, pouring shots into the armoured head of the Sweeper as it snaked towards them-and towards the fleet steaming to intercept it. “Two kilometres to the main fleet at current speed!” The corvettes zigzagged wildly across the sand, surging up and over dunes as they drew the Sweeper towards the Impetuses and her escorts.

The monster had wised up- it only came up to vent momentarily, streaming clouds of white vapour from its spouts, and even then, it only poked the tip of its back above the sand, avoiding most of the shells raining down on it from the combined fire of the three corvettes- but still heading towards the all-important main fleet. The hunt was going as planned. “Sweeper increasing speed! At current speed, we’ll be inside the doldrums in thirty seconds!”
“Increase our speed to three cycles!” Wentworth secretly reminded herself to congratulate Ottoman on his impressive mathematics- then the Tolstoy hit a depleted Lillium pocket, common in the Yarrow, but nearly unheard of in the North. Ottoman had already avoided the tell-tale depression in the ground, but the inexperienced navigator aboard the Tolstoy ran her straight into it. The corvette’s manoeuvring engines faulted and her fin locked itself at maximum port correction- she began to slew across the sand, slapping sideways into dunes and rapidly sliding away from the action.

The Sweeper changed course, burrowing straight for the stricken vessel. “Tolstoy has hit a Lillium depression! She’s breaking formation and heading port- Sweeper is pursuing!” Wentworth swore under her breath. “Arm folding-fin impact rockets and target the Sweeper! Fire as soon as they’re loaded!” A barrage of rockets exploded from the Vauban, arcing gracefully over to starboard and bracketing the Sweeper. But it was too late- the beast shrugged off the missiles, trailing fire and smoke from its sides, and crashed to earth on top of the Tolstoy. The two-hundred metre long vessel’s three decks held the monster’s weight for only a second, before she crumbled into herself and collapsed.
“Tolstoy has been destroyed! Sweeper coming back around!”

The guns had been stopped momentarily as the crews gaped. Wentworth snarled. “Increase our firing rates! Send flare message to the Oslon- rejoin formation and follow our lead! I don’t want any more losses!” The sweet smell of cordite and gunpowder began to penetrate the bridge through the ventilation ducts as the Vauban’s next salvo shrouded her with white steam and billowing smoke. The fire splashed across the Sweeper’s prow as it powered back towards them, snorting and blasting thick clouds of white vapour out of its vents.

“Distance to main fleet, half a klick and closing- Visual on secondary Lillium discharges from the Impetuses!” Wentworth started a mental countdown. The Impetuses carried the fleet’s Javelin Driver, probably the only thing that could hurt a Sweeper this big. “Bring us twelve points starboard and redline those cylinders!” Wentworth gritted her teeth. “We’ve got to buy the Impetuses more time!”

“Helm answering starboard turn twelve points! Speed increasing to five cycles- Lillium corruption timer started at T minus seventy!” The Vauban surged forward, thick plumes of steam exploding from her two stacks as the gunnery crews scrabbled for handholds. Ottoman’s periscope panned left and right, alternating towards the Impetuses as its Javelin charged and the Sweeper as it approached. “Sweeper still closing, but the Oslon is falling behind!” The Oslon was an older model corvette- in fact, she was so archaic she still carried a full-sized ramming prow on her bow, adorned with the seal of the Brood and the Northern Hunters. The ram was more of a decoration than a weapon, considering the fact that the ship would be rendered inoperable by the doldrums at the ranges required to use it. Of course, modern corvettes carried one for history’s sake, though it was much smaller and Wentworth had the Vauban’s removed anyway because it got in the way. The Oslon was also much slower than modern corvettes, with just two Infinity Cylinders and minimal manoeuvring rockets- and she wasn’t keeping up.

The old corvette dropped to port in an attempt to avoid the Sweeper as it barrelled after the Vauban, and her captain gave the order to abandon ship. The Oslon’s crew flung themselves off the vessel and into the air, their survival vests cushioning their fall with a blast of air, seconds before the Sweeper tore past with a grating roar and a huge gust of wind- grazing the Oslon and shearing the entire port flank off the vessel. Billowing flames and smoke, the corvette continued on her turn across the sand.

Wentworth’s countdown hit fifteen seconds. “Reverse our turn! Give me eight points port and keep those cylinders running!”

“Helm answering eight points port- Lillium corruption timer at T minus sixty!”

Wentworth gripped the rails of her battlestation tightly as the Vauban’s rivets clicked and groaned in protest. The Sweeper exploded past the back of the ship, nearly catching them in the doldrums- in fact, they grazed it, and the cylinders faulted for a fraction of a second. The Vauban’s speed dropped just a notch, and the Sweeper curled back around them and leapt for the kill. Wentworth was suddenly covered by shadow, and instinct kicked in. “Fire all bow rockets!”
The Vauban exploded with smoke and flame, and she blasted backwards. The Sweeper looked like it had passed overhead- but one of its dorsal fins scraped the tip of the Vauban- and being over fifty metres long, the fin took off the entire top off the corvette, cleaving it open like a knife through butter. A metal spar came off and pinned Wentworth’s cape to the wall, while a falling deck plate connected with her forehead, opening a large gash that wept blood furiously. The bridge was a mess- alarm klaxons bleated and the bridge staff had nearly all sustained injuries. The Vauban continued to careen backwards as the rockets spent their fuel, and Wentworth had to shout to be heard over the howl of the Sweeper and the wind.
“Fire chain hooks!”
Sixteen metallic hooks exploded from the Vauban’s midsection, lancing through the air in parabolic arcs and imbedding themselves in the Sweeper’s exposed back. The Vauban nearly stopped dead, the bridge crew were shoved violently as the eight rockets in the corvette’s prow pitted themselves against the huge tonnage of the Sweeper. The monster, however, reared up into the sky as the hooks pulled taut- and its vulnerable stomach presented itself towards the Impetuses and her main fleet.

The timing was impeccable- the Impetuses launched its Javelin- the twenty-metre long metal projectile screaming through the sky in a trail of fire and smoke in a millisecond- connecting with the Sweeper’s midsection and detonating in a brilliant flash of Lillium-injected high explosive. The monster screeched and fell to the sand, kicking up huge storms of sand and smoke- before it vented again- the blasts of vapour exploded from its back in rapid succession- one, two, three, four, five- six in all. Wentworth gaped. “Six spouter?”

The Sweeper reappeared from the cloud of smoke, clearly injured, but not out of the fight. It drew itself up to its full size, even bigger than before- and enraged. The creature lunged at one of the Impetuses’s escorts, a three hundred metre-class cruiser, squashing it in an instant and wormed its way underground, reappearing a moment later and entwining its body around another escort like a python, crushing the cruiser amongst its coils with little effort. The Impetuses fired a broadside, a panicked shot that splashed uselessly across the six-spouter’s prow.

The Vauban was eerily silent as the bridge crew watched the Sweeper effortlessly destroy the Impetuses and her escort. Ottoman followed a glimmering flare message from the flagship. “Wickham signals a general retreat- all surviving fleet vessels are withdrawing- Sweeper is pursuing. Orders, captain?” Wentworth tore off a piece of cloth from her cape. “Give me a damage report and inventory first.”

“One of our cylinders were damaged, output is down to seventy-two percent. In addition, all decks have been breached and we have two minor fires on decks B and C. Long gun three and two have been taken out of action and there are casualties amongst the gunnery crews, forward hemisphere engagement efficiency has dropped to thirty-two percent. Ammunition stocks have not been damaged.”

Wentworth smiled wryly. “I would have guessed so, seeing as how we haven’t been blown sky-high.” She sighed and finished tying the rag around her forehead. “What do you think we should do, Ottoman? I’ll leave this decision to you.” Ottoman looked at her with a steady gaze. “Well, ma’am- I say we’ve still got four long guns left and fifty tonnes of zero-point ground-penetration shells in our storage.”

Wentworth chuckled. “I couldn’t have said it any better, Ottoman.” The captain popped the lid on the brass communication pipe beside her. “Gentlemen! The situation as is follows: The Impetuses and her fleet are withdrawing- being pursued by a six-spouter class Sweeper. The Vauban has suffered major structural damage and two of our forward guns have been taken out of action.” She paused. “But we are still mission-capable, and I say it’s about time we show the Impetuses and the six-spouter just why the Vauban has earned the Trapper designation despite being a ninety-metre class corvette!” Wentworth blinked the blood out of her eyes. “I’ll give anybody who wants to play it safe and take their chances on the desert with the Oslon’s crew ten seconds to get off my boat.”

Nobody.

“I guessed as much.” Wentworth closed the pipe and turned to the bridge crew. “Plot me an engagement course and sound battle klaxon. Load ZPGI shells on all our long guns and prepare for action!”

A short report on a barely functioning Colonial Device found by York researchers scavenging through the Kennedy Derelict. Researchers concluded it was a biological analysis of the family of animals known generally by locals as Sweepers.

[029304-2903-19205459]
R950-DTD245
1305/02/02/[DATA ERROR]

AUTHOR: MATTAIS JORDAN
HEAD RESEARCHER, BRAAIS FLORA/FAUNA

Honourable Board,
The fauna on this planet continues to awe me- only on a planet with a Lillium core would such life be possible. I will be sure to cryo-freeze and send samples to the Board as soon as possible. However, I will not [DATA ERROR] the more refined [DATA ERROR]. There is one species I would like to talk about in much de [DATA ERROR] Vermum Rex, a magnificent beast we saw a few days ago aboard the Kennedy.

From what I could gather from visual, infrared [DATA ERROR] observation, this particular example measured at least eight hundred metres from end to end, vaguely shaped like a hybrid between terrestrial worms and the long-extinct whale shark and covered with sheets of amazingly thick armour resembling keratin- different specimens appear to differ greatly in number of dorsal fins, eyes and gills. It is seemingly living off the ambient Lillium levels in the ground- I will leave the exact science of this matter to Dr. Epithamus and his team, but the sheer impossibility of a life-form living on [DATA ERROR], though it seems like other smaller animals may do the same. The process by which the Vermum Rex manages to convert Lillium into nourishment escapes me, but by visual observation I can infer that it ingests crystals of Lillium trapped in the sand beds through a row of gills like a fish, before converting the Lillium into usable energy and expelling the waste matter, which takes the form of a white vapour-like substance resembling steam from multiple vents atop their bodies, requiring to ‘breach’ the surface every few seconds like a whale.

Additionally, the creature also appears to project a curious energy field around it that nullifies all Lillium in a [DATA ERROR] around it- whether it is a defence mechanism or [DATA ERROR] I do not know, but it shorted out my earlier draft when [DATA ERROR]. The {DATA ERROR} a [DATA ERROR] [DATA ERROR]

***
[DATA FILE CORRUPTION. REMAINDER OF FILE UNREADABLE.]

New Kingsford Smith was a sprawling metropolis scavenged from the Ruins nearby- despite Kingsford being over a hundred years old, the Ruins which provided a source of income and trade for the city had yet to be depleted, and Kingsford’s workers still toiled throughout the day sifting through the derelict hulls of the ancient skyscrapers and facilities for trinkets, scrap metal and other oddities to sell to others.
Kasturba buzzed past the communications depot, snagging a comms line out of the aerial towering a good two hundred metres into the sky. From there, the Skimmer’s retracting comms hook guided the thick rubber tube into the communication port embedded on the bottom of the Skimmer and the brass lid on the communications pipe mounted on the side of Langley’s ‘office’ popped open. “NKS Traffic Command to Skimmer, assume holding formation at three-zero, over.” Langley leaned over to answer. “Roger that, TransCom. We’ll hold.” He closed the pipe and opened the shorter one leading to Kasturba’s cockpit. “Hold altitude at thirty, Kat.” Kasturba didn’t bother acknowledging- she allowed the Skimmer to drop lower and slid the Gambit behind several heavy transports orbiting the city. All aircraft had to stay below forty metres and maintain their orbits around the city when they snagged a wire so that the line didn’t snap. From the ground it looked like a giant wheel with a few hundred spokes constantly rotating above the city.

It only took a few laps around the city for their landing request to be processed. “TransCom to Skimmer, approach corridor D56 and land. Welcome to Kingsford-Smith.” the operator droned. Langley rapped the lid twice in confirmation and checked his maps and instruments. “Turn to heading zero-four-fiver relative and drop to two-zero. We’re slotted in for corridor D56.” Kasturba eased the Gambit to the right, Condenser puffing lightly and entered the landing corridor- a set of marked helium lantern balloons bobbing in the light winds indicated the correct angle of approach.

The pilot’s hands flew over the controls, dropping their speed, activating landing settings on their flaps and ailerons, and lowering the landing gear with a heavy clunk. The landing pad bobbed towards them and Kasturba flared upwards to meet it. Langley flipped up the communications pipe. “TransCom, we’re on final approach. Thanks for the assistance. Gambit out.” He hit the disengage lever on the side of the pipe and the wire detached with a sharp click, whip-tailing back across the sky to the aerial in preparation for another orbiting Skimmer. The Gambit’s wheels scraped against the battered metal plating of the platform, Kasturba took her feet off the rudder and gently applied the brakes, and the Skimmer coasted to a halt.

The platform shook violently as its stowing arm moved it onto a tram-line and the entire assemblage rocketed into the terminal. Langley levered himself out of the cockpit and dropped to the floor. He pulled his goggles off and opened a large escape capsule salvaged from a capital ship strapped to the wing of the Skimmer, revealing a rather ruffled-looking Aldan. “Doing okay down there?”
“I’ve been in worse situations.” replied the Adept gruffly. “Are we there?”

“New Kingsford-Smith Terminal.” Aldan wriggled out of the canister and worked his limbs experimentally. “Great. What are you going to do from here?”
Kasturba dropped down from the Skimmer as the platform motored towards the ground. “I’m going to find something to eat-” Langley slapped his hand over her mouth.
“No, we’re going to find some odd-jobs for the day, get some more Kons under our belt. Never know when we’ll need it. After we call it a day we’ll find somewhere to stay and something to eat.”
Langley took his hand off Kasturba’s mouth and bent down to unscrew the top off the luggage canister. “But work is-”

“Relax, Kat. Most work here is pretty interesting- nothing like manning stores or delivering supplies like in other towns. TransCom always needs more mechanics and there’s scavenging to be done in the ruins.” Kat brightened considerably. “Really?” Langley placed the lid on the ground with a dull clank and reached inside for his bags. “Yep.” He threw on a smart-looking waistcoat and slid his camera-belt over his head.
Aldan shrugged as Langley fished out several pouches from the pack and threw the bag back into the luggage canister. “I’m planning to be here for a while, so Langley can come with me and we’ll find some work. You can come with us or stay here and work-”

“Papers, please.” Langley turned around to face a burly security guard who had crossed over to the platform. “Of course, here.” The three travellers presented their documents, and after a cursory glance the guard looked up at them with an utterly bored expression on his face. “You’re through, welcome to NKS.” He turned around and left. “Mechanical work seems pretty good,” said Kasturba as she jumped back in the cockpit and Langley replaced the cap on the canister. “I’ll stow the Gambit and find some work. Come back for me when you’re done, alright?” She powered the Skimmer up and buzzed off.
Aldan turned to Langley. “Been here before?”

The navigator nodded. “A few times in my earlier travels, Went all the way up to Isenberg, actually. Don’t remember much, though.” Aldan turned around and headed for the exit. “Come with me, then. I know where the jobs are.”
The Argyle Exchange was right in front of the ruins, a long and unpaved road with search requests on one side and hawkers selling their wares on the other. A sign next to a battered but remarkably official-looking stand near the end of the road, in front of the huge locked doors of the Ruin Entrance read ‘APPLY HERE FOR RUIN ENTRY- NKS MINISTRY’. A large throng of people waited at the office- bounty hunters with oversized leather dusters, eager researchers frantically pushing up their reading glasses and chattering amongst themselves excitedly, Adepts with their trinkets, bandages and cloaks fluttering in the stiff breeze and simple scavengers murmuring quietly amongst themselves and comparing finds. It was with some difficulty that the two travellers could get to the desk.

“When’s the next entry window?” roared Aldan over the hubbub. “Two minutes! Here’s your permit!” bellowed the receptionist in reply, before unceremoniously shoving two battered tickets into their hands. “If you want in, you’ll-”
“Get a job from the board, I know!” thundered Aldan as he pushed into the crowd, dragging Langley behind him. The Jobs Board was even more crowded- hordes of people looking to make some quick money pushed around the huge wall, clamouring to grab at the cardboard tickets being shoved through rows of cracks in the structure by attendants on the other side. Occasionally cards would shoot out of their slots, pulled by a Physics Adept, and fly across the crowd to land in the robed figure’s hand. Aldan glanced at Langley. “That little doo-dad on your head come with a magnifying glass?”

Langley pushed his camera over his eyes. “Sure does.” He twisted the lens and squinted in concentration. “What do you want- there’s Drone Powder, Drone Claw, Drone Eye, Drone Crystal-five centimetres up, cogs smaller than two millimetres, deck plating of all sizes, Colonial Generator preferably in working order…”

“Up to you, man.” Aldan shifted his balance from one foot to another. “Alright,” Langley glanced up the board- “There’s a nice reward for Drone-” He frowned as a hand snatched it out of its slot. The card was immediately replaced with a request for Drone Eyelashes. “Never mind.” He shifted his gaze upward. “Two contracts for Drone Crystals of any size.” Aldan smiled. “Sounds good.” He raised his crook and tapped the ground lightly. The two requests blasted out of their slots and rocketed towards them. Aldan caught them neatly in the palm of his hand and tossed one to Langley. The two slid the request tickets into the waiting receiver of their entry cards- the two halves sealed closed with a hiss and a slight blue Lillium discharge. The travellers returned to the huge metal doors with their tickets just as the orange alert klaxon began to wail.

“Alright, alright!” blared a gruff voice over a loudspeaker mounted on top of the doors. “Everybody with a complete ticket, come on through! A complete ticket means you have a job and an entry half- and don’t enter if your ticket was misplaced, stolen, or otherwise removed from your person! There will be consequences!” Aldan and Langley hustled into the dark entrance room with a group of other people. A NKS Security Captain in full combat armour and his escorts moved out onto a platform above the crowd. “Alright, everybody hold up your entry tickets!” A hundred hands lifted their red tickets into the air. The Captain hit a switch on the side of the room and the tickets glowed blue in response. The Captain glared at them. “Alright, nobody looks like they’re a faker.” He gestured to a team of soldiers and they moved quickly through the crowd, taking their tickets and detaching the two halves, giving the workers back their job cards and pocketing the entry tickets.

“Standard drill, ladies and gentlemen! The gate will open in three seconds after I give the all clear- all that happens to you once the gate is open is legally your own fault and we cannot be held responsible for any injuries, mental health issues, or other misadventures that you may encounter during your time in the Ruins! The exit gate will open once every hour, so when you want out, make your way to the East wall and wait it out- Do not, and I cannot stress this enough- Do not attempt to climb the electric walls! They kept the Drones out for a reason!” The Captain turned around and glanced out of a narrow viewing slot. “And speaking of our old friends, they’re clamouring around the open today, so you’d better be prepared. That’ll be all. Good luck, ladies and gentlemen.” He retreated into a side room and red alert lights began to flash in the room.

The workers all tensed- most of them unsheathed their weaponry, whether they were firearms, explosives, improvised melee instruments- Langley thought he saw somebody brandishing a streetlight. “Three!” blared the Captain’s voice over a communications pipe.

“Two!”

“One!” Langley braced to sprint, as did Aldan beside him.

“Open the Gate!”

The doors ground open, sunlight streaming into the room- and the workers surged forward, firing madly at the Drones scampering towards them- at the sky- at each other. Total confusion gripped the crowd as it spilled into the Ruins like a wave breaking. Langley reached into his waistcoat for his Dual-Action Dissuader, dodging a fireball launched by a panicking Adept. The sphere of flame splashed across Aldan’s cloak, enveloping it in fire that was quickly extinguished by the Adept’s charms on the cloth as the vanguard of the workers met the first of the Drones with the clank of claw on blade and the crackle of gunfire as gunslingers poured their fire into the creatures.
Langley dodged a rocket screaming his way and drew his Dissuader- the white metal glinted in the sunlight and the worn grip slid over his palm as he thumbed the hammer and pulled it to his chest. The cartographer dashed through the crowd and slammed his back against a piece of rubble- he wasn’t the best at combat, though a decent shot with any small firearm, and Langley greatly preferred to be seated behind a desk in a room somewhere filling out legal documents than this, but from experience anything other than scavenging was pretty hard to come by in the city.

Aldan was having a bit more action- he dodged a wild swipe at him from a man wielding a rusty great sword, then slammed his shepherd’s crook into the nape of the man’s neck, knocking the scavenger away into a throng of Drones- then baulked and looked up as a huge specimen appeared from around the corner of one of the derelict skyscrapers. The Drone dripped liquid Lillium from its mouth and was covered in thick scratched keratin growths and solidified Lillium crystals- Aldan could see the beginnings of a pair of secondary arms beginning to form on its back as it swiped aggressively a group of workers, bowling them over and sending some a few metres into the air. Most of the scavengers around it had scattered, as did the Drones- wise, considering how it was shrugging off heavy calibre rifle bullets like minor annoyances and shaking off people trying to climb into it with little effort. Estimating its height at around five metres, the Adept gripped the well-worn crook and rammed it into the whitish sand below him- the wood met stone with a dull thump and the Lillium beneath the Adept ignited- razor-thin veins of energy blasted out from beneath Aldan’s feet, curving intricately in the air in delicate blue-white half-spirals and reacted violently with a loose chunk of rock directly in front of the Drone barrelling through the scavengers towards him- the spear of stone exploded into the sky and Aldan’s eyes narrowed in concentration as he switched his attention to the Lillium in the air. The spear reversed direction, rocketing into the side of the monster’s jaw. The thing screamed as its wound shed blue sheets of liquid Lillium over the scavengers- some of which were already escaping past the scuffle and deeper into the ruins.

The Adept tightened his grip on the wood crook with his bandaged hands and channelled the Lillium behind him with some difficulty- other Adepts were using it as well, and the flow of ambient Lillium spun and whirled in small whirlpools and eddies that made it hard to gather a sufficient amount in one location. With a bit of effort he managed to gather enough for a good-sized blast and produced a lead sphere connected with high-tensile steel cable to a small spool from within the folds of his robe- he checked that the corridor between him and the Drone was clear, and released the pool behind him. With a loud roar and a distortion so powerful even Langley, who was firing wildly at the monster a fair distance away could see the shockwave and lines of Lillium discharge as they hung briefly in the air, Aldan accelerated forward, robe billowing in the wind as he kicked up a small sandstorm behind him.
The world went past in a blur- the Drone’s leg approached rapidly. Aldan’s right hand tossed the ball with a sideways flicking motion- his aim was good and the lead ball curved around the thing’s foot with the quiet hiss of unravelling cable. Aldan barely slowed as the line snapped taut in an instant and his shoulder took the force of his swing- a good seven metres into the air. He squeezed the spool lightly and a guillotine cartridge cut the line- Aldan hung briefly in mid-air as he focused another pad of Lillium behind him and launched himself downward.

Aldan dropped onto the Drone on all fours with a quiet woof of air exploding from his lungs- he had overestimated his speed and the monster’s attempt to shake off the six men on its back nearly knocked him off had he not snatched at a spike of keratin growth on the thing’s back- a worker was not so lucky and fell away with a hearty plethora of cursing. Aldan pulled himself back to a safe position as the Drone swiped at a platoon of heavily armoured gunners pelting him with shells. The Adept got to his feet and began to run up the thing’s back, scampering over Lillium crystals and even another Adept as he fought his way to the top, where the thing’s Lillium vein pulsed erratically. Concentrating another batch of Lillium from the air, condensing it and forming it into a near-solid tip of energy, he focused it on the base of his crook and prepared to slam it into the glowing vein- but was violently shoved aside by another man- this one had only a pair of red trousers and suspenders on, and his face was covered by a heavy-duty welding mask while bits of steel piping had been driven into his scalp.

The man cackled wildly and swung a piece of metal pipe at the Adept- Aldan rolled out of the way and the weapon bounced off the Drone’s back with little effect. The Adept pushed himself to his feet as the scavenger skipped towards him, screaming nonsense. The man was clearly dosed up on some pretty heavy chemicals- Aldan secretly wondered how he had even managed to get past the inspections like that. His assailant brought the pipe down in a two-handed blow that Aldan barely managed to parry- his hastily prepared charm on the staff shattered and the crook would have snapped in two as well if the Adept hadn’t allowed his left hand to drop, swinging the stick up around his right palm in a quick circular arc. Drawing upon the Lillium he had channelled earlier, Aldan created the Lillium blade and struck at the man’s face, but to no avail- despite having access to a full-charge, the blade snapped and the Lillium dissipated, with only a small spiderweb of cracks to show for it. The man screamed at him, but Aldan whipped the crook around and brought it into contact with the exposed area of the man’s neck with a brutal crack.

The man fell over and snatched at a spear of keratin for purchase- Aldan stepped forward and was about to hit his chest with the staff when the Drone tried to shake the people on its back again- Aldan twisted awkwardly in an attempt to retain his balance- failed, and scrabbled at another tumour-like growth to stop himself from falling off. The man pounced, ignoring the rapidly moving Drone beneath him and landed on all fours- pinning Aldan to the thing’s back. His welder’s mask clouded up with condensation as he screeched at the Adept- and Langley finished loading his Dissuader, having seen the scuffle unfold, and took careful aim through the ironsights.

The chamber had only one shell in it. Gold-coated with a tip sharpened to almost microscopic narrowness, it and its brethren were kept safely in cylinders of cork to preserve their lethality- the cylinders were themselves strapped into a silver box lined with red velvet kept inside Langley’s inner waistcoat pocket. Known as Zero-Point Ground-Impact shells, they were classified in order of magnitude. Standard load was three bars, half a milligram of delayed Lillium-Sulphur powder. This one was just one bar. Langley’s eyes narrowed as the man’s head bobbed fleetingly in the iron ring- he breathed out and squeezed the trigger. The shell ignited with a quiet whisper, a metallic clink that was lost in the chaos of the Drone’s rampage and the gunfire of the men still fighting it. A thin finger of smoke drifted from the Dissuader’s barrel as the shell lanced across the battlefield, its gold sheath melting away as it surpassed the speed of sound sixty times over and revealing a rapidly spinning titanium cartridge, shedding smoke and glowing red as the air scraped over its flanks.

The shell struck the man in the side of the mask- the razor-thin tip buried itself inside the four-centimetre thick reinforced steel before stopping, deformed and dulled, just before meeting the scavenger’s temple and leaving the majority of the cartridge stuck outside. Aldan saw the gold barred cylinder and took half a second to connect the image with its connotations. He closed his eyes as the Scavenger drew his head back to slam it into Aldan’s cranium. “Oh sweet Je-” The delayed-action warhead went off- a shotgun blast’s power condensed into a space half a centimetre across- focused directly into a single forward point calibrated to a nanometre’s accuracy. The scavenger’s cranium took all of half a second to burst. His welder’s mask instantly turned red with mush as a small blossom of crimson steaming flesh exploded sideways, silhouetted against the cloudless blue sky. Aldan threw the headless corpse off of him as the Drone wheeled, summoned his crook back to him with a quick hand gesture- it had been dropped when he had been knocked onto his back. The staff rocketed from its bed in the sand and Aldan wrapped his fingers around it, resummoning the Lillium he had needed to land a finishing blow. The blue-white blade materialised at the base of his staff, and he drove the wooden crook into the swollen Lillium vein of the Drone.

The monster howled, staggering wildly and knocking Aldan off its back- the Adept dropped to his feet with his cloak billowing around him seconds before the Drone, shedding a scalding geyser of blue Lillium from the gaping wound on its neck staggered drunkenly, screeching and roaring, and finally toppled. The scavengers still there applauded quietly and make approving comments- Aldan relaxed and let his staff drop to his side- it looked like nobody was going to make after his kill, an event that wasn’t unheard of in the anarchy of the Ruins. As the group of gunners moved off in search of more Drones, Langley got to his feet and walked over to Aldan.

The cartographer kicked at the dead Drone and looked up at the Adept. “Nice kill.” Aldan smiled. “Thanks.” He gestured at the blue Lillium crystals embedded in the thing’s flesh. “Got a knife handy?” Langley produced a fine example from his belt and handed it to Aldan. “Have fun.” The Adept bent down and began to pry crystals from the Drone’s keratin hide while Langley broke open the Dissuader and punched in a new six-round package.

Camp Bush Medical Research Facility, New Federation of York

Document 56/70
Doctor Macmillan Faraday, Project Manager
WORKLOG 67

Our observations continued on the Drone population residing near the ambient Lillium pockets near the Bush Relic, but so far have yielded little fruit.

As per other observations from other camps, these organisms’ cognitive and logical abilities continuously degenerate as they age until their mental capacity is no different from that of a wild animal- a point which I like to refer to as the ‘Faraday Threshold.’ It is a pity to see our Adepts grow into such beasts over time, but the population seems to have come to terms with the problem and perceive it as normal to send an ailing Adept into the deserts before their minds are destroyed completely- a fact that disgusts me- it is nothing short of exile!

These specimens are no different from the rest- they exhibit uneven thickening of the skin into a hard, ivory-like substance comprised of keratin, and solidified Lillium deposits have moved outwards from their internal organs to burst through the hide. The younger ones can be identified by measuring the size of the horn-like growth on their forehead and its intricacy- they also maintain some vestige of consciousness, although all memory and ability to use human speech seems to have disappeared. They occasionally demonstrate curiosity in foreign objects and are more tolerant of human contact than older examples.

The older Drones- we estimate their age at around seventy years progressed from point of degeneration, are extremely hostile. The keratin hide continues to grow around their skin and folds over the eyes, and their horn continues to grow, occasionally branching out into antler-like formations. It is at this stage that an advanced stage of mutation takes place- all specimens we examined developed several pairs of secondary eyes that fluoresce bright blue at night or when enraged, as well as the ability to produce liquid Lillium from glands within their bodies which is occasionally expelled orally with violent vomiting. Their degeneration and physical growth speeds up exponentially and intelligence regresses to that of an animal- the specimens exhibit no interest in any object and wander aimlessly around the Relic, occasionally digging in the sand for no reason currently discernable to us- some individuals have been digging tirelessly for more than a week without pause.

Upon sighting humans, they vocalise loudly, drawing the aggression of all nearby Drones regardless of age, and adopt extremely aggressive stances- if contact is maintained they attack their target with vicious strikes from their fingers and attempt to bite them, generally aiming for the jugular. Despite their cumbersome keratin growths, they move remarkably fast, adopting a cat-like movement pattern and their strikes are supplemented by the extended growths on both their hands and around their jaw, allowing them to hit and bite harder than their size implies. When in battle, their eyes glow and leave discharges akin to those produced when an Adept harnesses Lillium, and they produce liquefied Lillium in large amounts which is salivated out of the mouth instead of the usual expulsion method. After combat is over, they lose interest in the corpse and return to their normal activities.

Tomorrow our research team will attempt to capture several specimens and begin research into possible methods to delay or even stop the degeneration of our Adepts- the Federation needs every last one for its mission to unite the Braais wastelands, and we can’t sit down and watch our brightest minds and greatest warriors become nothing but mindless husks.


An small sketch of a Specimen earlier today. Note the secondary eyes beginning to form and the increasing complexity of the horn

Wentworth‘s cape billowed around her shoulders as the captain trotted down the passages of the Vauban.
“Ma’am, I ask you to reconsider. This ‘plan’ of your is exceptionally risky. The Oslon’s superstructure has already sustained critical damage. Getting her to move might scrap the entire ship”

“We’re Hunters, Ottoman- we live and die on the chase. And this- this may be the biggest chase the Brood has ever seen!” Wentworth climbed half a staircase before stopping. “Hey, where’s the rest of this?”

“Probably torn off when we were hit, ma’am.” The captain shrugged. “Whatever, this’ll do.” She pulled a Derringer Hook from her waist. “Get back to the bridge, Ottoman. We’ve got work to do.” The First Mate made to argue, then shook his head in frustration and turned to leave. Wentworth raised the pistol and fired- a sharp crack and a wisp of smoke that was quickly whipped away by the Vauban’s speed. The grappling line lanced across the desert as Wentworth deftly detached the barrel mechanism from the device and rammed its spiked rear into the wall, then raised a pair of binoculars to her eyes just in time to see the head embed itself firmly into the wall of the Oslon. She gave the line a good yank, convinced herself it was fine, and then clipped a motorised ascender to the wire and jumped off the staircase, thumbing the motor as she did so.

The engine exploded into life, whizzing Wentworth across the span between the two corvettes in mere seconds. Her boots met hard iron with a clang and the captain dropped onto the gangway, shorn cleanly in half lengthways from the impact of the Sweeper. She drew a utility knife from her hip and cut the line, then inched her way across the damaged walkway towards the open door a few metres away, ignoring the pieces of debris and metal the Oslon was shedding as she barrelled out of control, looping constantly in a circle. Wentworth examined the damaged steel lock on the door- it was bent out of shape, hit by something that had come loose when the Oslon was cut in half. However, the door itself had been smashed out of its frame, and she managed to kick it down without much trouble.

She made her way below decks, stumbling and nearly falling out of the vessel as a pair of explosions deep within the Oslon’s bowels rocked the corvette. Pressing her back to the greasy wall, Wentworth descended a flight of stairs and made a short fall down to Engineering. One of the Oslon’s Infinity Cylinders had been breached and was spinning out of control- the blue sparks and thick smoke billowing from a huge gash along its length all but confirmed the Lillium inside it had been corrupted. Wentworth found the main console- or what was left of it, anyway. The thing was smashed open, and she discovered that the delicate brass connectors inside were damaged beyond salvation.

The captain turned around and dropped her pack onto the floor with a dull clank. She undid several straps tying a large wad of explosives wrapping in a canvas package to the bag and stabbed a steel firing primer into it with a fleshy thump, then hurled the thing into the corrupted Cylinder. The wire from the primer unravelled with a metallic whirr and Wentworth picked her pack off the floor and retreated behind the console to blow the faulting power supply. She thumbed the trigger and covered her head with her hands as the explosives detonated with a loud bang and a short blast of flame and smoke- the Infinity Cylinder’s one axle groaned as it weakened- then the entire assemblage leaned slowly out of the vessel, bolts bursting from their holders with metallic pings, then toppled out of the Oslon.

With one Cylinder gone, the corvette slowed down considerably, making life very much easier for Wentworth as she piled crates of supplies and food to make her way up to the smashed main deck.
Now Wentworth made her way to the bridge, which was even more cramped than the Vauban’s because of the large shrine in the middle of the room- she huffed a bit in frustration and dropped herself into the navigator’s seat. Thankfully the Oslon had auto-compensators- the sudden loss of her entire starboard side had created a disturbing list that was beautifully corrected for by the Oslon’s stabilisers. Wentworth made a mental note to read up on those systems back at dock, but for now brought the navigator’s console online and took a glance at the damage control panels. The thing was covered in red, but the most of the core systems remained intact. Wentworth placed her hands over the controls and took command. Creaking in protest, the Oslon slowly straightened out her turn and lumbered towards the Sweeper. Wentworth took a quick glance at the speed creeping painfully up on her readout and swore- the Oslon was never going to catch up to the Sweeper at half-speed.

She took a long glance out through the shattered viewing windows, ground a few calculations in her head, then grabbed an intact time-bound activator off the floor and rigged it to the console. She stepped across the bridge to the First Mate’s post and tapped out a flare message on the starboard dispensers, then racked the launch lever. The flares exploded from their ports, blossoming in the sky above the scene as the main fleet continued its withdrawal, hotly pursued by the Sweeper, and seconds later the Vauban replied with a barrage of grappling anchors that exploded from their launch chambers and attached themselves to the bow of the Oslon. The Vauban’s cylinders churned furiously as Ottoman brought her up to a sprint, dragging the Oslon along beside her. Wentworth scaled the tattered skeleton of the Oslon’s forward bow as the ship trembled from the strain of being pushed past her maximum speed, leaping and scrabbling over iron bars and bits of loose plating like a cat as she made her way to the armoured ramming prow.

Pressing herself against the giant metallic structure, she reopened her bag and emptied it onto the deck, revealing a substantial amount of what the Brood referred to as Helglas Explosives, illegal material dating back to Colonial eras, Wentworth had no idea what the silvery cylinders were made out of, or how they worked, but she knew that when provoked, they blew with a hundred times the intensity of the power of the Brood’s reverse-engineered copies. Why the Brood had outlawed the use of such effective explosives was beyond her- probably their ridiculous pseudo-religious superiority complex. The Vauban of course had several hundred of these canisters primed and ready, hidden under Wentworth’s cabin. She attached a wad of conventional shaped explosives, scrunched into a vaguely V-shaped formation to the prow, then pressed the canisters gently into them, careful not to disturb the volatile material contained within. The end result was not exactly the prettiest explosives job she had created- resembling a cream-coloured Prickleback with supercharged, highly volatile spikes, but it would do the job.

Wentworth heard the distant clang of battlestation klaxons being sounded as Ottoman prepared to engage- she glanced at an intact long gun still sitting on the bow, but without a dedicated crew operating it was going to be impossible. Instead, she rammed a timer into the explosives and fired another Derringer Hook across the space between the two corvettes and rappelled across. Tossing the spent pistol overboard, she strode back into the bridge. “Captain on deck!” barked Ottoman as he saw her boots come in through the doorframe. “You have command, ma’am.” Wentworth nodded. “Long guns?”

“All surviving guns loaded and ready to fire with zero-point ground penetration warheads. I’ve ordered the crews to maintain one shell every second after.”

“Alright,” Wentworth said, smiling with anticipation. “Engage.”

The guns roared- shots screeched into the air amidst clouds of white smoke and flying sparks, and explosions began to dot the Sweeper’s scorched shell- the monster howled and slowly turned to face them, surging forward to meet the new foe. Aboard the empty Oslon, still attached to the Vauban with a net of cables, the timer hit ten seconds. The Sweeper submerged under the sand to avoid the fire- it vented six plumes of scalding hot steam into the air as it increased its speed.

“Distance, two kilometres and closing at 6 knots! Collision estimated in fifteen seconds!” shouted Ottoman.

“I make it twenty, Ottoman- Hold our heading! Cease fire and reload!” barked Wentworth, leaning forward in expectation.

“Ten seconds!”

“Hold our heading!” repeated the captain. “Prepare to release our tow hooks and standby on all port anchors and starboard rockets to fire on my mark! All gunnery crews, standby to execute alpha strike!”

“Seven seconds! Collision imminent!” Ottoman glanced nervously back at Wentworth.

“Hold, damn it!”

“Four sec-”

Wentworth slapped her armrest. “Mark!”

Everything happened simultaneously. The Sweeper rushed up to meet them- the rockets detonated with a thump and everybody on the bridge were thrown off their feet. An instant later, the anchors fired, leaping from their ports with brief blasts of flame to embed themselves in the hard bedrock under the sand- then the tow cables cut with a twang.

The Vauban jumped to port, the Sweeper charged past with a brief burst of sparks and a terrible scrape of metal as it brushed the armored flanks of the corvette- then the timer on the Oslon hit zero. The activator ticked over and slapped a weight onto a switch. The old vessel’s limited rockets fired with a scream- the explosives at her prow detonated with a huge fireball and a thunderous roar. Wentworth’s placement and shaping of the charge had been perfect- the explosion was aimed downwards- the power of the Helglas charges provided enough force to push the 2000 ton vessel’s nose into the sand- its stern rotated into the sky with a cascade of sand and metal debris, rockets still discharging, and made a full flip, cartwheeling across the sand until it met the Sweeper- with a shudder and a metallic groan, the corvette lodged itself in between the Sweeper’s jaws just as the thing opened its mouth for what would have been a death bite.

The Vauban's Cylinders had failed under the doldrums emitted by the Sweeper's flanks, but she tilted heavily as the anchors screeched under her weight- the corvette kicked up a huge wave of golden-yellow sand as it turned to bring its bow to bear. “Power-surge our Cylinders and feed all power to our Javelin Driver! All remaining weapons, target the Sweeper and fire on my signal!” roared Wentworth. The lights dimmed and all power stopped as Wentworth’s weapon spooled up- the entire forward deck folded in two and the huge long gun rose from the ship’s prow, locking into position. Blue swirls of Lillium spun furiously around the rotating spear, and the two-pronged weapon discharged steam furiously as the Cylinders poured energy into the weapon.

The Vauban’s prow pointed squarely at the Sweeper’s jammed open mouth. Wentworth leant forward. “Fire!” The Javelin screamed from the chargers, leaving visual distortions as the air rippled around it, seemingly white as it flashed into the sky from having liquefied from pure speed, followed by the thunder of the corvette unloading sixteen tonnes of explosives off her guns and rocket tubes simultaneously. At point-blank range, the twenty-metre long lance crossed the distance within nanoseconds and shore the Oslon in two, disappearing into the Sweeper’s open maw. The monster’s jaws clamped shut with a heavy thump, the fire from the guns splashed tongues of fire off its prow- then the liquid lance, slicing through metre-thick walls of flesh and bone, solidified a few seconds later and fractured into thousands of red-hot metallic shards that shredded the thing apart from the inside. The Sweeper’s heavy armour fractured- red hot spears of metal exploded from within it and into the distance with a metallic whirr. The monster screamed- the sound made Wentworth wince and clap her hands over her ears, while Ottoman dropped to his knees. With a final gurgle and a discharge of blue Lillium, the thing slammed to the ground- enveloping the bridge in a final blast of sand.

The Vauban spun violently, buffeted by the air. Her metal supports creaked and clicked in protest as the stabilisers slowly settled the corvette. Wentworth opened her eyes. “Did we do it?” The bridge-crew didn’t reply- the corpse of the Sweeper lay unmoving just off the starboard bow. Wentworth let out the breath she had been holding. “All hands stand down. Fire signal flares for a kill registration and request a tow back to dry docks.” Wentworth imagined the look on Wickham’s face. “Oh, and make one more mark on that kill shrine.”

The captain smiled. “Even forty, gentlemen.”

“… The Noble is powered by no less than six hundred Infinity Fields that collectively we call the Infinity Matrix- thanks to our generous partners in companies like Gottlieb Heavy Industries and Wenlock Scientific Research, it took Aragua Colonisation only seventy five years to harvest the Lillium needed.” The reporters clustered on the sterile metal viewing platform all made bemused remarks and applauded quietly. Newton Sangria nodded and scribbled on his writing pad furiously. Sending the note to his rapidly filling storage with a quick horizontal swipe, he looked up at the cavernous hallways thrumming with blue energy and power. The colonisation ship’s interior was all business- sleek and metallic, with grating hiding brilliant blue Lillium tubes still waiting to be covered by the neutral grey deck.

“Our team of two hundred maintenance personnel check up on this system every day and ensure that the Noble is functioning and optimum power capacity.” Their tour guide blinked and consulted his computer. “All together, the Infinity Matrix can produce enough power to sustain the Noble’s core operations six times over. The extra energy is siphoned to operations like refuelling our frigate escorts, powering research equipment and of course, ensuring our Lillium-field neutralisers are active when we go through the Storm. With the Matrix operating at maximum output, the Noble’s mission capabilities are significantly improved, though to avoid strain on the system, we usually only have two-thirds of the system online at any time.”

The guide gestured behind them. “That’s the engine room, folks. If you’d follow me, we can head to the living quarters and command deck.” Sangria finished his last note and scowled at his pad’s blinking indicator that it was full. He didn’t have reception aboard the Noble, so he would have to compress his files and fire them off to NewTech later. The reporter pushed up his thick-rimmed glasses and tucked his pad back into his shirt as he followed the crowd back into their waiting trolley. As soon as everybody was on board, the thing whirred down the track at impressive speeds. “As you know,” the guide said, rocking on his feet. “The Noble is so big it was constructed in sixteen separate sections, which were then joined together. We’re currently one block away from our next stop, so we’re gonna have to do what we on the Noble call ‘crossing the gap.’”

***

Aldan dropped the Drone crystals from the monster he had killed earlier, as well as some more from other individuals he and Langley had picked off later into the waiting cart. Langley worked a lever on the side of the cramped room, and the cart whizzed into the depths of the Jobs Bureau. It took a few seconds to process, but soon the cart came back with a satchel of Kons placed unceremoniously in the middle. Langley took it, peeled off half and passed it to Aldan. The two of them left the crowded facility and emerged back into the hubbub of the Argyle Exchange- Langley stretched and looked at the Adept. “What now?” Aldan glanced back at the cartographer. “Mind coming with me for a moment? Got something to show you.” Langley shrugged and smiled. “Sure, why not?” Aldan returned the expression. “Great.”

***

Sangria’s foot tapped out a rapid beat on the metallic floor of the trolley as sweat poured down his forehead. To his horror, ‘crossing the gap’ meant screaming out of the transport rails at full speed and hitting a metallic arm that whisked them into the air a full one thousand kilometres into the air, as the guide had so cheerfully pointed out, with nothing between them and the distant second hull below them but the tiny trolley deck. While all the other reporters admired the view from the windows of the trolley, the NewTech representative hunched over in his seat and offered prayers to every single deity he had ever heard of until finally, the trolley whirred across to the other side.

Sangria sighed in relief and wiped his brow as the wheels connected with solid titanium rail again. The trolley slowed down to a more reasonable pace as they hummed through a pair of thick blast doors and into a much more inviting environment from before- the temperature rose, the steel grates and deck plating slowly gave way to white, smooth tile, and soft yellow light bloomed from a series of discrete lights hidden in the edges of the walls. “As you can see, we’ve moved into the crew dormitories. You might be surprised to hear that we’ve only got enough rooms for about a fifth of our total population, but we have planned a cycle roster so that only about ten thousand crew are operation in periods of three months. At the end of this period, they return to their cryostasis pods and are relieved by the next set. We’ve got all the necessary amenities for long-term day to day life…” The rooms unnerved Sangria with their clinical sterility- it looked like they were in a hospital, not a colony ship.

***

The alleyway seemed just like the any other- the only remarkable thing about it was that it was deserted and difficult to get to, buried deep into the slums surrounding the fringes of New Kingsford Smith. Aldan stopped abruptly in the middle of the alley and faced Langley. “What’s up?” the cartographer asked cautiously, looking around with his hand on the grip of his revolver. “Relax. Got something for you.” The Adept held his fist in the air and loosened his grip-a metallic pendant in the shape of a hawk dropped from his hand and hung suspended by a silver chain.

Langley’s eyes narrowed. “The Brood wants you back, Ubique.”

“It’s Langley now, Seeker. And why not have shown this back at Seltzer?” Aldan shrugged. “It’s a mess back there, Langley. We’ve got incursions from the east and west and the damn conservatives running the show won’t let us even use the technology we salvage from them. In fact, call me blasphemous but I’m getting my family out of there- the Council has been sending for all the help it can get. I’ve gone after seven or so exiles so far and working my butt off whenever I can to get some Kons under my belt- Brood currency is useless out here, and after this run and maybe one more I’m going to be smuggling my wife and kid out of Brood territory and back to New Kingsford. I didn’t give you the pendant at Seltzer because I knew you were headed out soon and I had some unfinished business here.”

Langley chuckled drily. “I see that Brood intelligence hasn’t changed since I left.” Aldan shook the pendant. “Not my place to tell you whether or not to return, Gunslinger. The Brood’s promising amnesty and free housing if you go back, but it’s a dangerous place.” Langley looked at the pendant for a long while. “Sorry Aldan, but I won’t. Too many commitments here, to the Guild and to Kat.” he closed his eyes and sighed. “No place for a war criminal there anyway, even with amnesty.” The pendant disappeared. “Heck Langley- you were what? Eleven? Twelve? Don’t lose too much sleep over it.” Aldan blinked. “But I don’t blame you.” The murmur of voices close by made the Adept stuff the emblem hastily into a fold in his robes. “Better leave. We’ll see each other again, I hope.”

Langley grabbed his arm and pulled the Seeker into a traditional Brood embrace, putting one hand on Aldan’s hip and slapping his back with the other. “Been a pleasure.”

“Likewise, friend.”

Aldan stepped away and hurried down the alley. Langley watched him go for a while, fists clenched-then allowed the stolen pendant to drop from his hand. He examined his prize with a satisfied smile. “Been a pleasure.”