Chapter 1. Black Plateau

As I mentioned, I arrived five days later at Black Plateau in a bad mood. Normally the trip takes four days, but a pack of slavers had the nerve to set up shop close on to the route. Now we don't have proper roads to Black Plateau for the simple reason that it's one more thing to discourage the nosey from coming up. And while slavers tend not to be nosey, there's the little issues of there being laws against them, so their presence might attract folks more curious still. Also in the event of certain experiments getting loose the last thing you need is some idiot nearby who either sees them as potential profit or charges off spreading panic or worse.

So I wasted a day wiping slaver scum from my armament and the face of the earth before arriving at the outer gate. The only thing that would have made the day worse would have been meeting that damnable Zul gro-Radagash – thankfully I didn't.

But first let me explain how Black Plateau works, and why. Black Plateau is based in eastern Cyrodiil, very close to the Morrowind border. It's a complex of buildings devoted to three things: magickal research of a dangerous nature; containment of magickal research of a dangerous nature; and cleaning up as required after said magickal research of a dangerous nature.

The place is arranged in a set of rings. Inner Ring is where all the interesting stuff takes place – and the exciting stuff if you're unlucky. Middle Ring is where the battlemages keep problems and secrets in and nosey parkers out. And Outer Ring is where people do their eating, sleeping, healing and all the lovely paperwork. And that's all you need to know, except for one last thing: Stay out.

Inmates like Ancotar and Henantier hate it, but as far as I'm concerned uprooting them and their precious research is all for the common good. And Aleswell's.

To my surprise Bruce was waiting for me at the gate, that daft hat on his head, leaning against the wall in a deceptively casual stance that actually favoured his leg and left his weapon hand free.

"Now what's going on?" I ask him. "Must be important to get you up and about."

And he just looks at me, steady blue eye under white hair. "It is," says he, "Laren's opened an entirely new gate."

I handed over the reins to the ostler and gods, Bruce can move as fast on that stick as he hits hard with it – or so I've been told!

"So how're the kits?" asks he over her shoulder as I catch up to him entering Middle Ring.

"Doing well," says I, "The messenger got whacked by bandits on the Red Ring Road though. J'dargo was all for going after them."

And we both chuckle at that. "Tell you what," says he, "I'll write out a recommendation for the Legion. He can take that when he's of age to join."

"What about the Fighter's Guild?" Sure, Lord Snot Golem was one of them, but it's always a good idea to keep your kits' options open.

"You want him to follow in the steps of gro-Radagash?" and he stops and looks at me and I look at him and then I continue chasing after him. I won't stop J'dargo if he wants to join the guild. I'll just live long enough to be a nuisance to him in my dotage.

Bruce led me into the Inner Ring, and headed towards Building 3. Like all the buildings in the Inner Circle, it's an ugly barn-like structure designed for holding horrors in so they don't get loose, or at bay if they do get loose, or quick repairs when things go boom. Inside is one large hallway with windows and doors opening into four laboratory rooms each side. Bruce and I joined a group of guards and magi, who were peering through the window into Lab 7.

Inside the room was a big globe of flickering light, about six and a half feet across, that varied from an intense purplish blue to blue-white. There was no indication of any frame, which would have suggested which daedric prince it was associated with. I could hear a vague sound coming from it but the glass turned it into an unintelligible murmur.

"So what the hell am I looking at?" was my intelligent inquiry.

"Um," the intelligent response came from a frazzled-looking Dunmer everyone agreed was Tuls Laren, "This is meant to be a portal to a point outside the building."

"What the hell for?" asks I, "There's these things called doors, you know." This broke some of the tension, except on Tuls' part.

"Well excuse me! I am attempting to rediscover the secrets of the guild guides, who as you know were all wiped out when the daedra overran Morrowind, Arch-Mage, and my intention was to start small! Today a portal to the outside, tomorrow I could link legion outposts from High Rock to – to Gnisis!"

"All right, all right," says I with a wave of the hand, "I understand now. So if this is a portal, where does it go?"

Tuls just looks at me. "Some place called the Capital Wasteland," says he, "listen."

And he opens the door to the lab, and now I can faintly hear music, as from a long way off, but distorted. It stopped, and an equally distant, distorted and boisterous voice butted in. I still remember that diatribe.

"We interrupt our regularly scheduled program for – da-da-da-dah – some news! For those of you not in the know, to the northwest of Megaton is this vault, Vault 101. Now, believe it or not, this one's still got people livin' in it! And every few years, someone comes scrabblin' out! Well, wouldn't you know it, someone's come out of it again. And, I kid you not, he came to visit yours truly, right here in the studio! Now this cat, James is his name, had been in the hole for years. He needed to know what was what out here in the beautiful Capital Wasteland. So I, the great and powerful Three Dog, set my brother straight. I told him what was what. The winners – the losers – the movers... and the shakers.

"So if you see James out there, say hello. Be kind to our new brother. And show him that here on the outside, we always fight the good fight. Hey – and in case a light bulb started glowin' over your head, you can flick the switch and forget about it. You're not getting into that vault. Whoever lives in there sure as hell doesn't want what you're sellin'. And no, you can't knock down the door. It weighs like... thirteen tons.

"And now, a super-important public service announcement! We all know the dangers of radiation, but with the right precautions, you can prevent accidental death or even – yeugh! – ghoul-ification. Keep your eyes on those gy-gur counters kids. Tick-tick-tickety means 'run your ass outa there.' And pop some Rad-Away for good measure. If you do need to head into the heat, be smart. Give yourself a nice boost of Rad-X first. Remember, only you can prevent human flesh fires.

"Thanks for listening, chill-dren! This is Three Dog! – Owww! – and you're listening to Galaxy News Ray-dee-oh. We're Ray-dee-oh Free Wasteland and we're here – for you. And now, some music."

Tuls closed and locked the door on some bard singing about how he was a mighty mighty man or some similar tripe.

"I have made notes on this man's pronouncements," Tuls went on. "He repeats himself a lot. He also doesn't seem to be able to hear us, no matter how loudly we call. But look in the corner there."

So I look and I see a cockroach resting in pieces. It was hard to miss.

"Ahnissi's dugs," says I, "that bug's a foot long!"

"It came through the portal," says Tuls, "and it was hungry. Fortunately it wasn't immune to fire."

"Or sharp objects," a guard added.

"I want to see your notes on this portal," says I.

-o-o-o-o-o-

We went next door into Lab Eight, where a large mass of books and papers above the floor implied there was a table underneath somewhere.

"As you know, Arch-mage," starts Tuls, slowly at first but getting more animated, "the Empire is besieged on all sides. Daedra, if reports are true, are rampant in Morrowind and Skyrim. Brigands are flowing out of Valenwood, and –"

"Your portal will change all that how?" asks I.

"Arch-mage, my portal, when perfected, will allow troops to bridge great distances as though walking through a door! One step the Imperial barracks, the next the battlefield! No more vulnerable supply trains, forced marches, any of that rot –"

"Steady," I put a hand on Bruce's arm as he starts breathing hard through his nose and his hat starts trembling.

"– Fresh troops as and when needed! Now, from what we know of the gates of Mehrunes Dagon..."

"Explain to me later," says I, cutting Tuls off (and earning a grateful look from Bruce), "that's what should be, now about what is. What do we know of what's beyond the portal?"

"Nothing much," up pipes Henantier, to my surprise. Then again, he did create a gateway into his own dreams so of course he'd be teamed up with Laren. "We haven't sent scouts through yet since we don't know how stable the portal is."

"Also it was felt that scouting should not be done without first informing the Arch-mage," Bruce added, and I noticed the hurt looks from Laren and Henantier. Still, when Bruce decides, you don't undecide him.

"That giant insect suggests other giant creatures," he went on, "so we may enter into a world of giants."

"We don't know that," Laren says irritably, "if you would let me attempt to make visible what is beyond the portal..."

"But if it's unstable it could do anything!" Henantier cries.

"Don't you think I know my own damn portal? It's simply a matter of..."

Out comes my mace and I bang it a few times to restore order.

"This Three Dog person," says I, "What else does he speak of?"

"Well," Laren pulls out a set of papers, "we know he is involved with something called Galaxy News Ray-dee-oh, or Gee-en-ar for short. It could be either a place, or alike to The Common Tongue or Black Horse Courier. When he isn't crying the news, there is music, usually the same songs repeated over and over again."

"Night and day, it doesn't matter," chimes Henantier, "I think either he doesn't sleep or there's several bards taking the title Three Dog."

"Have you tried hailing him?"

Henantier nodded, then shook his head. "No answer. Either he's very disciplined or he can't hear us."

"So that's one group in this place," says I, "Who else is in there?"

"It's a dangerous place," Laren explains, "which is why we've holed up next door. We have references to 'raiders', slavers – are you all right, Arch-mage?"

"I ran into a pack of the scum on the way up," says I, "four hours ride away. I was trying to tell you on the way here Bru–" Whoops! Don't call him that in front of the men – "Brucellus, could you see about patrols or something? That's too close for my liking."

Bruce nods agreement. "I'll see to it." Which means some cadets are in for hard yakker and a bit of hands-on. A great deal of deviltry goes on underneath that hat.

That issue finally dealt to I nodded at Laren to continue.

"There are also warnings about ghouls, although they apparently are, and I quote, 'humans exposed to an ungodly amount of radiation'. Some are apparently reasonable enough, but there are feral ones little more than animals." He smiled thinly. "At least they're not undead."

I don't rise to the bait. This is what comes of publishing your memoirs. "What else?"

"Creatures called, er, 'yow gwy', but only to warn against feeding them. He also warns against mercenaries called 'Talon Company' and beings called 'super mutants'."

Henantier butts in. "Apparently if these mutants don't kill you, they take you away somewhere."

"And the only other group he favours is the, eh, 'Brotherhood of Steel'." Laren glares at Henantier.

"Fine," says I, "And where are they when they're at home?"

"No idea," the two chorus, then Laren continues. "All we know is that Vault 101 is northwest of Megaton, both of which we assume are outside an area called the... 'Dee-See Ruins.' There are also reports on trouble in places called 'Ten Penny Tower', 'Gray Ditch' and 'Ar-eh-foo'. But no directions!"

"Which is why we need to send a scouting party," Henantier adds.

"Not until we have more information and know we can get them back," Bruce states coldly.

"But how can we test the portal's stability without sending someone through?" Laren goes to stop Henantier, but the bit's in his teeth now. "We need to find this Three Dog or whoever these sages are and find out all he or they knows as soon as we can!"

WHACK! Did I mention Bruce's very good with that stick?

"We do nothing. Until we are certain that we can retrieve a party and that the area is secure." Bruce's eye was as deadly as his voice.

"How long has the portal been open?" asks I.

"A week," Laren says, "At first it was only about a foot across, but then it expanded without warning. The cockroach arrived three days ago."

"So living creatures can pass through it safely," adds Henantier.

"But was the bug always that size?" Bruce may have been a legionnaire, but he was also a battlemage, and like all good battlemagi he wasn't thick. And the possibility shut Laren and Henantier up.

I too dwelled on the implications – of six-foot-too-much Zul gro-Radagash striding through the portal and emerging just over a foot tall. It was a lovely thought.

"Just now," Bruce was saying, bringing me back to reality, "he was warning about radiation. Any idea what he's talking about?"

More head-shaking. "No idea," says Laren, "but it must be something related to fire. After all, he says 'heading into the heat' and 'human flesh fires'. I'm wondering if we've opened onto some previously unknown plane of Oblivion."

"All the more reason for caution." Bruce's face went blank, thinking back to the nightmare of Bruma.

"Good point." I sit up straighter. "I think what we should do is leave the trap alone, and wait for something more intelligent to arrive. That way we have the home advantage as opposed to popping through and straight onto something's sword-point. For one, we know our magic works here."

Bruce was nodding and looks at me approvingly. "I'll get a watch schedule drawn up," says he, "versed in illusion magicks." I look at him and he looks at me. "Paralyse, charm, or scare off," he explains.

He struggled erect and nodded at me. "With your leave Arch-mage, I'll get to it," he says, and I tell him to carry on and salute and he salutes and away he goes.

"Right then," says I turning to the two mer, "how were you going to make the far end visible?"

And away we went talking shop. Or rather, theoretical shop. And substitute 'talking' with 'arguing over the exact method to use with this magickal dingus'. I'll spare you the gory details. It was a thoroughly interesting concept and much of the theory tested my understanding of Mysticism.

We were involved in debating the relative merits of using some sort of physical object as an anchoring point as opposed to establishing a psijic link with an anchorite when there was a commotion outside.