"This is the mission log of Captain Eru of the Iluvátar seeding ship. The crew has been awakened 5,530 Ain years into our mission, due to the proximity of a planet matching our specifications. GRG-543 is a rogue planet of approximately 0.89 Ain mass, 1.3 Ain gravity, and with most of the necessary preliminary raw materials. I've given the order for terraforming to go ahead immediately and personally selected officers and crewmen to occupy the planet and begin a new Ainur colony. I am designating this mission 'Arda Project', and the planet is to be referred to as such forthwith. Next log entry in 95 hours. Eru, Iluvátar."
Silver-black satellites punctuated the shimmering blue forcefield surrounding the planet, their bright white beams distorted by the wall of energy. They dotted the upper atmosphere as far as the eye could see, blasting the molten red surface with streams of liquid nitrogen, calcium plasma, gaseous iron; the basic building blocks of a habitable planet. A hundred miles above the surface, the mighty vessel Iluvátar orbited and controlled its metal feelers. Melkor sighed; his breath caught the forcefield serving as a window and dissipated in a series of tiny electrical cracks.
"Beautiful, isn't it?"
Melkor didn't respond. Soft footsteps echoed in the long, empty observation deck as the voice moved closer.
"Surely you agree?"
"It's beautiful now," he replied, holding his gaze on the tumultuous planetoid below. "Whether it will be when we've finished doing all this to it…" he trailed off.
The voice behind him laughed softly. "I was talking about what we're doing to it."
The silence stretched on as a new satellite zipped past the window, taking up a position directly below them and adding to the bombardment of the planet's surface.
"It's impressive," Melkor conceded. "But beautiful…well, I suppose that depends upon your point of view."
Manwë let out a scoff and stood by Melkor's side. "We're transforming a ball of molten rock into a living, breathing biosphere," he exclaimed. "We're birthing a planet in less time than it took to birth you or I. It's a triumph of science."
"Some might say it's science overstepping its bounds," the delicate-featured young man retorted. "Who knows what this planet might have evolved into if we'd left it alone? Something strong, something unique, something…" He sighed. "Beautiful."
"Always you must be my conscience, brother," Manwë said gently as glinting silver arms snaked out from the hull beneath them to adjust the new satellite's position. "You know I trust your opinion on these matters more than anyone else's", he reassured him, "but these are our orders, and as such it is out of our hands."
Melkor turned to face his half-brother, the dull blue light of the forcefield casting half his face in a sickly glow and the other half wreathed in the shadows of the unlit room. Despite sharing a father, their differences in countenance were striking; one small and dark-haired, with the gentle features of a youth and bright eyes of a child, and the other tall, broad and golden-headed, with an easy smile and dusky skin.
"I did bring my misgivings up with the Captain," he muttered, casting his eyes downward awkwardly.
"And he told you to mind your own business," Manwë finished for him. He sighed and shook his head. "Melkor, you're a good commander but Eru has experience. Plus, there's no-one on this ship who's even half as talented an engineer as you. You need to get over it."
Melkor swallowed hard. He wasn't used to being told 'no'; his competence and charm usually won people over instantly. But being passed over for command of the Iluvátar had been a gutting blow.
"It's a rogue planet," he protested. "It's too small, the gravity's too high, it's practically just a ball of magma right now; it's a waste of resources," he grumbled. "I told him outright, we could terraform four developed planets for the raw materials he wants us to pump into this one," he continued, becoming more and more animated, "but he said it wasn't my decision to make! I'm the Chief of Engineering on this project, who does he think he is to just ignore me?"
"He's the captain," Manwë said, placing a tender hand on Melkor's shoulder, "and he makes the rules. I have to jump just as high for him as you." A volcanic eruption below them ripped a seam of livid red open on the planet's crust, the ejecta slamming into the forcefield and crackling into nothingness in a bright white glow. Satellites caught in its path exploded in a maelstrom of arcing lightning. Manwë squinted into the light. "You should probably get back down to engineering," he said. "They're going to want help with that."
Melkor smiled thinly and turned to walk away. "Melkor!" His half-brother called after him with a grin. "Tell you what; next planet we reach, I'll ask if you can decide what we do with it!"
The engineer laughed mirthlessly and stepped into the shuttle, his face falling into a frown as soon as he was alone.
"Engineering," he growled.
The shuttle zipped off immediately at tremendous speed, only slowing when it reached the transport hub at the centre of the ship. It was here where Melkor was reminded of the sheer scale of the vessel. Six miles from tip to tail, half a mile high and a mile wide, it was more a floating city than a ship; a quarter of a million of the Ainur's finest minds and workers now called this their home until the day they died, a million light-years from their home galaxy. The top and bottom and opposing walls of the transport hub were almost out of sight, and in every direction queues of floating shuttles rose, fell and inched forward as they carried their occupants from one end of the ship to the other.
"Commander Melkor!" His communicator erupted from his breast pocket. "Commander, we need you in engineering."
"On my way," Melkor replied as his shuttle lurched forward and zoomed down a connecting tunnel, bringing him in a matter of seconds to the engineering deck.
"Commander Melkor, Sir!" The chubby little lieutenant blurted as he saw the Chief step out of the shuttle, banging his hip painfully on his console as he rushed to stand to attention. The rest of the department carried on unheeding of their commander's presence, rushing from station to station and shouting to be heard over the tumult of voices as they attempted to get the volcanic eruption on the surface under control.
"Still ejecting-"
"-not our fault, the bloody geologists should've-"
"-satellites are going to melt at this rate!"
"Stand easy, Aule," Melkor replied to his second-in-command. The lieutenant returned to his seat and wiped his sweaty brow with an enormously hairy forearm. Melkor grimaced as droplets splashed over the console. "I saw the eruption, how are you coping with it?"
"Not well, Sir!" Aule shouted as he calculated new satellite trajectories in his head and input them two at a time with either hand. The huge screen above him changed to match his courses and a new wave of hysteria broke out amongst the engineering crew. "It's a Class 4, it could destroy the crust solidification specifications. Currently trying to trap as much of the ejecta as possible, re-insert it into the mantle and then use a gravity well to stitch the seam back together."
"That won't work," Melkor replied, unbuttoning the cuffs on his heavy-duty engineering one-piece and rolling up the sleeves, "the eruption's too violent. You'll lose crust integrity and with it, the planet." He pulled a console over to him and set his palm on the screen, giving him access to the override. "I'm going to seal that seam. Forget the ejecta, I'm not ordering our satellites to chase dust." His fingers flew over the keys as he rearranged the satellites, his underlings screaming in panic as their screens changed without warning.
"But Sir," Aule protested, "if we don't seal it properly we'll lose weeks having to reorder the shape of the planet, compensating for the change in wind flow and distribution of plant life - months, even!"
"If we don't seal it right now, there won't BE a planet to re-order!" Melkor shouted above the rabble. "And lieutenant, I don't know about you, but I've just spent the last five thousand years asleep - I've got time!" He committed all available satellites to the cause with a swipe of his hand and within seconds, billions of gallons of liquid nitrogen were pouring into the molten red wound on the face of the planet, sending up immeasurable clouds of smoke as the magma cooled and hardened, sealing the crack shut. Melkor let out a long sigh and pulled his long, black hair, slick with the cloud of sweat and steam that constantly pervaded the engineering deck, back from his eyes. The shouting of the crewmen eventually gave way to applause and whoops of triumph. A smile tugged at Melkor's lips; the adulation warmed him from within. He could get used to it.
"Lieutenant Aule, you have the deck," he announced, pushing the console away and heading for his office. "No doubt the Captain wants to know how we've just ruined his precious planet," he added under his breath.
Manwë stepped out of the elevator and onto the bridge. It was a dizzyingly huge room; rows of consoles on four descending tiers stretched out for yards in either direction, all facing a gigantic four-piece screen, showing a combination of all the ships' functions and the view outside. Usually it was a loud, bustling place, but now the silence stunned him. Next to a live feed of the still-smoking gash in the planet's face, Manwë groaned silently to see his half-brother. Melkor, he thought, What have you done now?
"Commander Melkor," Captain Eru barked in the silence, "your entire department was working together to try and reverse the effects of the eruption - the entire department! The best the Ainur has to offer! And you overruled them and instead left us with a newly-formed mountain range-" he paused to check his screen, "-six hundred miles long and three miles high!" Melkor rolled his eyes. "Do you have ANY explanation, Sir?"
Melkor inhaled deeply, his eyes boring into the captain's across the video link. Manwë slowly took his place behind the captain's chair, hoping his half-brother would notice him. "It would have failed, Sir." The bridge erupted into protestation and argument. "The eruption was simply too big," Melkor continued, almost shouting to be heard over the noise. "To attempt to fix a split crust of that magnitude with a gravity well would have fatally compromised the magnetic field. We wouldn't have noticed it at first, but trust me, eventually that planet would have split apart."
"Nonsense!" An officer on the bridge shouted out, his comrades hushing to let him speak. "Just before we left the galaxy they fixed an impact crater twice that size with a gravity well!" Murmurs of agreement rippled around the room.
"And has anyone been in touch with them lately?" Melkor replied sarcastically, his youthful features innocent. The officer cleared his throat and sat back down. Dissent grew around the bridge until the Captain silenced them.
"Commander Melkor, I want to see you in my office at the eighth bell, tomorrow." He sent Melkor's unimpressed face away with the vigorous jab of a button. The bridge rapidly resumed its usual business of fuss and noise and the captain turned to face his First Mate. "And I want to see you in my office now," he rumbled, pushing himself up and stalking down the row of consoles to his office at the far left of the bridge. Manwë followed in silence until the hissing of automatic doors behind him shut out the din of the bridge behind them.
"I brought your brother on board because you vouched for him," the captain began, easing himself down into his plush, high-backed chair. "I gave him the post of Chief Engineer because…?"
Manwë cleared his throat and gripped his hands behind his back. "Because I vouched for him, Sir."
"No, because he's that bloody good," the captain replied, irked. "But you know as well as I do, Manwë, that this isn't the first time he's gone off on one of his…his…"
"Fancies, Sir?" Manwë ventured.
"Ego trips!" Eru replied vehemently. "This is the third time he's overridden protocol, and I will NOT have officers who ride roughshod over our procedures, you understand?"
"Correct me if I'm wrong, Sir," Manwë said innocently, "but hasn't he been proven right each time?"
Eru regarded Manwë with a hard stare before sighing. "And what if next time he's wrong?" He said simply. "Have a word with him, if you would. You're the only one who can seem to get through to him." Manwë shifted uncomfortably. His brother's perceptiveness had been evident even from the youngest age; forever asking "Why?" or "Why not?". What started as innocent childish curiosity, however, had quickly blossomed into stubbornness and even insubordination. More than once since childhood he'd had to intervene to keep Melkor from a black eye.
"I will, Sir," Manwë agreed reluctantly. "And I'll remind him that an invitation to your office is not a request." Eru let out a snort of laughter and gestured to the door. Manwë turned on his heels and exited, making his way up the still-heaving bridge and exiting into the corridor. As he made his way to quarters he couldn't help but gaze out of the long, borderless windows; it took years to get used to a barrierless walkway teetering out into space. The entirety of the planet's southern hemisphere loomed towards him; the livid red of the molten rock and the cool blue of the forcefield melded together in parts to create brilliant patches of coruscating purple, with the glittering silver beams of the satellites flickering like will-o'-the-wisp in the distance.
"Beautiful," he breathed. "Beautiful."
"Lights."
Soft phosphorescent light bloomed into the room at Manwë's command, illuminating the spartan berth. A double-bed, wardrobe, workstation and chair were all that adorned it, each in neutral military tones. Another borderless window stretched from one end of the room to the other, showing the vast and unending vista of deep space. An aggrieved grunt issued from the bed.
"Sorry, sweetheart," Manwë apologised softly. He sidled down onto the sheets and wrapped his arm around the struggling figure beneath them. "Lights down," he announced, dimming the light. "Better?"
"Mmf", Varda assented wordlessly, wrapping her husband's arm tighter around her. "Ship okay? Planet still there?" She mumbled sleepily.
"Just about," Manwë replied, yawning. "Melkor's got it in the neck from Eru, though."
Varda's eyes crept open. The mention of Melkor's name brought a bad taste to her mouth every time. "What did he do now?" She asked, now uncomfortably awake.
"Sealed a fault line with a trillion gallons of liquid nitrogen," Manwë said, his eyelids already heavy.
"What?!" Varda blurted out, turning to face her near-comatose husband. "Is he insane? He could have rendered the crust inviable!"
"Could've but didn't," he murmured, "calm down."
Varda frowned and propped herself up on her arms, sweeping brown curls out of her face. "Calm down? This is the third time! You can't keep defending him just because he's your brother!"
"Half-brother," Manwë mumbled into a faceful of pillow.
"He keeps doing this, Manwë," Varda retorted angrily. "If he were anyone else, he'd have been court-martialled by now, and you know it."
Manwë groaned and turned onto his back. "What do you want me to do? March down to Eru's office and demand he put him in the brig?"
"That's not what I was talking about," his wife grumbled and turned away from him, bringing the covers up to her chin. "You could just…have a-"
"-a word with him?" Manwë chimed in, unsurprised. "Wouldn't you believe that's exactly what Eru told me today? I'm not my brother's keeper." Silence stretched out between them, broken only by a sigh. "I will, of course, 'have a word' with him, but if you've such a problem with his competence I suggest you take it up with him."
Varda's eyes narrowed, staring daggers out into the depths of space. Spending more than ten seconds in Melkor's company was a thought that made her skin crawl.
"He wouldn't listen to me," she replied, "he doesn't listen to anyone."
She got no response but her husband's snoring. Sighing and clutching the covers tighter to her body, she closed her eyes and forced herself to sleep.
