Contact – Only the Good
July 7th, 5,015: Caelon, Joint Mudwing/Seawing Fortress (JMSF).
If ever a place of consequence had been forgotten about, it was this one. Faithfully standing high on its artificial stone foundation, the installation had been around since the late forty-eighth century, which made it young by Pyrrhian standards, though it was none the worse for that. Its stone battlements dripped with stalactites of salt, thrown up by the spray, and beneath the lone tower was the largest collection of defensive and logistical tunnels since Azkilach, that fortress of ancient Skywing legend. Defunded after the war, and after Disarmament, a small collection of currency had begun to flow into its coffers after Riptide's adventures in oh thirteen, adventures only he was privy to in this group. That, however, was another story. Suffice it to say that the long-whispered rumors about dragons in the deep were entirely real, and they were as dangerous as the legends said.
Luckily for the Seawings, they'd kept to themselves…
Ordinarily this sort of thing didn't make Maj. General Arrow worried, just cautious. It was his job to monitor these dangers; if he'd been unable to deal with the stress Special Armaments wouldn't have had him in this job for these last four years. Twenty-one years of age and with his twenty-second birthday coming in a month or so, he stood considerably taller than the other dragons in the room, and so looked down on them when he talked to them. Now, however, his lips were curled back and his eyes surveyed the chamber, worried and guarded.
Standing in the stony conference room beside him were Warrant Officer Marshweed and Swordtail, and Otter, the SaS Warrant Officer, with maps decorating the cast iron table like plaster, specks of rust browning the bottoms of the parchment. Though Marshweed was technically one of three warrant officers at the fort, the other two were on leave in Pyrrhia, and so these were the ranking officers here: ordinarily there would be a colonel or two around, but as SaS had basically implanted him into the command chain because of the nature of the project, he found himself rubbing shoulders with lieutenants with little go-between.
"We were supposed to get a supply convoy of product base four days ago," said Otter. He was a Seawing, thin and reedy, despite the fish Marshweed left in the supply room every day for him to consume, his scales an unhealthy platinum gray without any of the shine.
"And a response to the courier any time now," said Marshweed. Swordtail stood next to him, snout compressed tightly, with worry lines stretched over her eyes.
"Perhaps the palace are busy," said Arrow.
No one needed to suggest why.
"You can hope for their safety," said Swordtail. Marshweed snuck her a talons-up on her improving Common, a displacement activity that masked the grim nature of the conference.
"Do we have any intelligence?" asked Marshweed.
Arrow shook his head. "We chose a place far off the beaten track, and there aren't any civilians to feed us info. Gentlemen, it's time we start planning for the security of this installation and its products."
"Should we dump the product?" asked Marshweed.
"Information of the product type is classified," said Arrow, looking at Swordtail, whose brows were furled. She might not be able to follow the conversation – or she might be pretending to not be able to follow it, which she was clever enough to do.
"My bad, sir. Suggestion."
"Allowed."
"Should we let her in on this? Given the amount she's shared with us, it's fair we give information to her."
"We don't operate on fairness here," said Arrow. "If she needs to know, we'll tell her."
"Yes, sir."
"Good. Now – it's obvious that the Seawing Kingdom has been compromised kinetically. If our correspondence is being read by the enemy, we have only a little time before they come knocking on our door," said Arrow. His eyes darted towards Swordtail, fixated on hers. "Would the Hivewings be capable of doing that?"
Her tail swished as she thought.
"Yes, if they caught a courier above-water."
Because of course they could, Arrow thought. Then he forced away the sarcasm. "We have two options at this point. We can go to ground with the camouflage equipment we have and wait for this to be over, or we can actively participate in the conflict."
"We only have a battalion, sir," said Marshweed. "More than usual for an installation this far out and of this size, but not enough to do anything useful."
"Used intelligently they may do us good yet," said Arrow, his voice low and measured. "Make sure the measures to destroy the equipment are in place, and ensure also that no documents will survive after such an event."
"Documents?"
"We cannot, absolutely cannot allow the technology to fall into enemy talons. The Hivewings would use it as an engine of destruction."
"What if we supplied it to our forces?" asked Marshweed.
"Suggestion, sir," said Otter.
"Allowed."
"We could give product to our forces, if we knew where they were, and if we had enough supply elements. Our current garrison has a carrying capacity, maximum, of some two hundred and seventy thousand liters, enough for about fifteen hundred small charges, or a hundred-odd large ones," said Otter. Defiant to the end, the Seawings used metric while everybody else had gone with imperial.
"And we currently possess, what, five hundred thousand liters?"
"Correct, sir."
"Even in small quantities, it should be enough to make a difference," said Arrow. "Can Hivewings swim?"
"Not as far as I know, no," said Swordtail. "They live primarily in buildings on land."
"Good," said Arrow. "Otter; make plans for intelligence forays of multiple wings, up to two companies at once."
"Yes, sir," said both of them. The sound echoed funnily in the enclosed room, until the backflow of speech was erased by the heaving sea.
"We'll be sending them east, mostly," said Arrow. "Have the lieutenants down in staff draw up plans for transportation of product to various destinations. Additionally, I want two wings going east by tomorrow morning. They must have a staging area to get across all that ocean, if they can't swim."
"What about boats?" asked Otter.
"Boats?"
"Floating buildings that sail on the water to places with cargo onboard," said the warrant officer.
"I imagine propelling it by dragon would get exhausting," said Arrow.
"The designs I've seen use wind power."
"Most ingenious," said Arrow. "Do they have any of those, Swordtail?"
She shrugged. "Say it clearer."
"I don't think I can put it clearer than Otter did. Floating buildings that go places."
Swordtail shook her head. "Would have said so, if I'd seen one."
"Tell the soldiers to look out for those."
"Yes, sir."
It was at this moment that Arrow paused to consider for a few minutes, staring at the chart of the Bay of Diamonds before him with unusual focus. Marshweed bobbed his neck back and forth, thinking of the dragons at the fortress, and their eventual fate. Otter was lost in logistics-land. Set apart from the four was Swordtail, standing at the other end of the table with map in talon, wavering like a leaf in the night wind. Arrow could not know what she was thinking of. Mostly she was thinking of home, and that led to the Hivewings which inevitably accompanied her native continent, and that thought flowed naturally into the next contemplation, which was about which part of a Hivewing's neck was best to slice so it would bleed out quickly.
"Our best chance is to contact ROYDAMCOM and share intelligence. Get somebody on that," said Arrow. "Additionally, we must gather some ourselves. The product residing here is to be regarded as a resource to be distributed. As far as I am concerned, we are already on a war footing."
How true this was he didn't know, only suspected.
"Distributed to whom, and by who?" asked Otter.
"Any forces beleaguered by Hivewings," said Arrow. "Depending on what ROYDAMCOM comes up with, that may extend to other tribes as well."
"That means all of them," said Swordtail. Hitherto she had only spoken when spoken to, but now she broke into the conversation without asking permission. Arrow frowned, but she went on. "If Wasp brokers a deal with any Queen, she will betray them shortly. Her sights are on conquest, and she is blinded by her bloodlust. Peaceful means are beyond her."
"That may have to do with her tree problem," said Otter. "The Hivewing economy seems to be based on consumption."
"You were not allowed to speak, both of you," said Arrow. "I will forgive it, however, because you have offered me useful information."
It was a dense dragon who missed the veiled threat in those words.
"Have the camouflage nets put up by tonight, and work on those plans. I trust you wrote down an itinerary."
Marshweed nodded.
"Good," said Arrow. Stepping back on all fours, he surveyed the three dragons before him before firmly saying "Dismissed!"
Marshweed and Otter filed out of the room without looking at him, but Swordtail met his gaze for an instant before she too passed through the door and into the blue-gray hall, dark if not for the dim daylight streaming in through the hatch to the top floor of the squat tower. Arrow turned back to the table and shook his head. He had a bit of planning to do.
Being a warrant officer meant that Marshweed got to avoid the flak which came out of high-level tail-measuring contests in the officer corps, while simultaneously getting a nice view of the show. If the general on top of him got replaced, that wasn't his problem, unless the commander was abrasive enough to make it his problem. It was rare for the core personnel of an installation to be relieved all at once by high command; only the dragons on top were subject to such scrutiny.
There were downsides to being a warrant officer, however: it meant he had to deal with talons-on hard work instead of getting to sit in a cool break room all day, or better yet, lounging in the water while he read General News Weekly, the exclusive paper made possible by the (re)invention of copy blocks.
Then he banished the thoughts; they were lazy and unproductive. He could do that when he went on leave – if ever he went on leave after what was happening in the world, dangit.
And moons, the smell up here when the boys were running the equipment was awful.
So now he was standing outside the fort, standing by to correct any difficulties as the dragons of bravo company rolled out the camo net from the run-down, square storage unit adjacent to the fortress proper.
"Hold up!" he shouted. "You're going to rip it on that snag. Here, let me go clear it."
The bundle of leaves, twigs, and sand-coated tar was as tall as a dragon when it was rolled up, twice as long, and three times as heavy. Backed by a rope as it was, a small rent could easily turn into a crippling tear under the fabric's own weight when it was stretched out. Marshweed knew this as well as the soldiers did. He trotted over briskly and scooped the offending obstacle into his talons.
It was a hard-shelled box turtle, its cabochon-like back a mixture of orange and black.
"Maybe we ought to put this guy on the net," he said. The soldiers chuckled, and he set the small turtle on the ground and waited for it to crawl off, keeping an eye on it so he wouldn't step on it while the work went on. The wary testudine decided it wanted to stay in its shell, and hell or high water, it wasn't moving.
"O.K, undo the cord now," said Marshweed. "And don't cut it!"
The soldier who had been about to snick the heavy-duty rope with his talon suddenly figured it would be a much better idea to undo the knot, and set about doing so, though it was a nasty poser, and kept him busy for a while.
"How are we going to get it up top?"
"Uhhh, fly it up there and then carefully unroll it," said Marshweed. "Rope."
"Haul it up by rope?"
"No; throw me a rope."
A dragon tossed him a thick coil of brown cordage, which he held in one talon and stretched with the other. It had a little bit of give; not much, and was discolored more from age than anything else; it probably dated back to the original Seawing-Mudwing alliance. Having no protective sheath to cover it from the elements, it would be lucky to last more than a couple of years in the salty air, and that would be a problem if the fort was isolated from civilization for too long.
Two hefty Mudwings pushed the roll of camouflage net upwards from the middle, and a pair of Seawings supported its sides, clinging to the walls of the fortress where expansion cuts in the rock afforded a perch. They pulled the stuff upwards until the Mudwings were standing on the hind legs, and had no more strength to give.
"Might be a good idea to haul it up by rope, sir. Is there more in the storehouse?"
"There ought to be," said Marshweed. The sand was collecting between his talons and making them itch. He didn't like sand. "You two, go get it."
The pair of Mudwings trotted into the squat outbuilding. There were rummaging noises, and then they trotted out with a couple of coils slung over their wingtips. Of those, one was so old it was unusable, and the other had just enough life in it to where they could sling it around the roll, do a quick tie-off, and pull it up from the top of the fortress with the Seawings supporting it.
Naturally, it was Marshweed who had to do the pulling. Once the roll set atop the weathered stone, he undid the tie-off. A dragon shouted up to him.
"I see we're going to cover this wall and the opposite one, but what about the other sides?"
"That's what the other roll is for," said Marshweed, imagining the look of annoyance on the other's face, even though he couldn't see him. "We're not done till Arrow says we are, and he wants it finished tonight."
Though it was cloudy, he had a good estimate of where the sun was, and how near it lay to the horizon. The long summer days meant it would be a good ten hours until night, and even then the Seawings would still be busying away under the silver moonlight. One moon, the brightest, out-shining the stars of old. One, the smallest, guiding those who lost their way, and another, the thirty-day moon, regulating the calendars of fortune.
That was how Mudwings saw it.
Marshweed had a peculiar feeling he wouldn't be standing around outside waiting to enjoy the view. By now they had unfurled most of the camouflage material, which was mostly dyed cloth; the aspect of depth could only be added by affixing bushes and other natural items, which was – guess what – another three hours of work.
"Go slowly," said Marshweed. "You, stand up here on that half of the roll and keep the kaboodle from falling off when we lower it over the side. I'll ease it down."
The stone cap of the fortress was small by dragon-terms; only a hundred feet long, and less wide, and a dragon and a half tall, with the outbuilding a long, low bunker of stone, ideally built for the dimensions of what it stored. The cobbled granite offered good traction to Marshweed while he hung onto the side of the building, all six tons of brawn and a few dozen pounds of brain, his typically Mudwing jaw angled upwards as he supported the roll with his right forearm and tail.
"Have we got the right length?" asked the guy up top. "Wouldn't want to shift it because there was extra."
"We're fine," said Marshweed. "Looks like it'll be short by a few feet, but we can sweep up detritus at the bottom there to make up for it."
They ran out of net five inches from the ground, which meant there was just enough gray stone showing to worry about but hardly enough to bother with. Marshweed set a dragon to scuffing up sand along the edge and spitting on it, which would hopefully cement the stuff in place long enough for it to hold until there was a more permanent solution. With this element satisfactory for the moment, he trotted to the uncovered side and pulled himself up head over talon, doing this instead of flying because he knew his takeoff would spray debris in the workers' eyes.
The roll was already on the edge, poised to topple and make a mess. The Seawing leaning on it and yawning was the active ingredient in a recipe for disaster.
"Up, up," said Marshweed. His body was fully on the roof by now, though the netting material meant there was only a small place left for him to perch. "If you let it fall off you'll ruin it."
The Seawing burst to attention. "Sorry sir, won't happen again sir."
"It better not. You almost compromised the piece of equipment our lives might all depend on," said Marshweed. His voice softened. "You need to remember you're working on something greater than you. Breaks are tempting, but that's what the break room is for."
The Seawing nodded. Point taken.
Here was a fort made of the best of the best and it turned out the inexperienced guys had been masquerading as the people who ran the product machine.
Marshweed hollered for another Mudwing to come over and help him on this side.
"We'll cling down here, and you make sure it doesn't tip over and roll off when it goes over the side," he said, when all was ready. "On three."
"Yes, sir."
"One, two, three!"
That last was said with a strain and a grunt when the Seawing over-enthusiastically shoved the roll over the side. It tipped over Marshweed's head, threatening to escape his talons and unravel to the ground below, then reached its apex, and settled safely into his claws. From there it was comparatively easy to get it to the ground, and the next roll was similar, only this time they had to work around the net which was sitting on top of the fort.
When this was complete Marshweed took his rope and ran it around the outside of the fortress cap, pulling taught and then knotting and double-knotting, in case of a hurricane. He wondered, momentarily, if the Hivewings knew about cyclones, and decided he would ask Swordtail about it.
"All's done now," he said, "except for the décor."
The dragons of Fort Caelon let out a weary chuckle.
In the end, however, the job was finished, and when the work was done and he was taking the rest between the end of his shift and the beginning of his sleep, he went underground and found the dark passages constricting; the sand gritty between his talons instead of smooth, and the air too cold and too light.
How far away was the mainland, and how long would it take him to reach the Mudwing kingdom from there? Though the Seawings at Caelon did well to make him feel at home, the tidings that Pyrrhia was under attack sat ill with him. The realization that he couldn't go back suddenly made him want to return.
Marshweed ducked into a dark, seldom-used passage and leaned against the blue-stone wall, eyeing the scanty provisions which were laid in a row on the other side; supplies in a faux storage room. Then his eyes adjusted to the lower light and a dim, dragon-shaped outline formed where before there had been solely the black midpoint of the corridor. A low mumbling came to his ears, and the dragon waved his talon regularly.
"Eighty, eighty-one, eighty-two -"
"Evening, Otter," said Marshweed.
"Good evening, Marsh. Eighty-three -"
The stocky Seawing advanced a pace towards Marshweed, and the burly Mudwing backed up, because passing was always a tight squeeze in the side corridors for him.
"What did Arrow have you do while I was out putting up the camouflage?"
"Ninety-one."
Otter paused, then shrugged. "Told me to compile shipping tables on the product to several different locations. I'm having the boys figure out the distances to where he asked, and I'll collate their answers into one document, but for now I'm busy with… this."
And he nudged one of the crates with his talon.
"Is there any particular significance to it?" asked Marshweed. "I know you tallied those in the last inventory."
"I'm making sure the count is the same as what I expect. If I see less crates than there ought to be, there's been double-dipping," said Otter. He counted the last of the stores in the hall, then held the parchment against the stonework while he wrote on it with a quill. "Bother my farsightedness. It gets in the way."
Marshweed shifted backwards again, this time to let the light of the sole glow-fungus on the leftwards wall shine on what Otter was writing.
"Thanks."
A quiet silence.
"D'you ever get homesick?" asked Marshweed.
Otter snorted.
"Me? Never. The sea is where a Seawing lives. A few claim to like best one part or another, but if the water is deep enough for frolicking, and shallow enough for the sun's rays to make it to the ocean floor, we can call that home."
"I thought you liked deep water."
"There's stuff that lives down there, stuff you don't want to know about," said Otter. "Riptide discovered that. It's an open secret, but no one wants to talk about the creatures where the sun don't shine. We're Seawings, but we're not Deepwings, see? Some things give us the creeps."
Marshweed gave a slight nod of his head.
"It's a good thing you can't go down that far. Anyway, now that the inventorying is done up here, I'm going downstairs to check on the product."
"We have product base left?"
"A little."
Then two and two made four in Marshweed's head.
"Ohhh, yeah, that smell we had when I was supervising the camo job."
"Second-to-last barrel. You coming?"
"My shift ended, so sure."
Otter slipped out of the side corridor and into the main passageway, looked both ways, then took a left, with Marshweed at his heels.
"Not a flicker of flame, not a degree of heat, not a hint of fire out of you," he said. "You were gone just now, but Arrow said if anyone kindled anything downstairs they'd be in the pillory, I quote."
"Sounds lenient."
"I would have the dragon beheaded. Can't risk stuff like that."
"Leafwings don't have fire, do they?"
"Maybe yes, maybe no. Ask Swordtail."
An unobtrusive door presented itself at the end of the hall. Otter produced a key from a pouch on his person, then turned the stone lock. It scraped and clacked with the grind of rock meeting rock, then gave way.
"Good thing there's a handle on the inside," said Marshweed. "Or your dragons would be getting locked in."
"Shouldn't be my dragons, but there it is," said Otter. "Services and supply usually doesn't command anyone except the tabulators and the people we get from the dragonpower pool."
"We had something like that in the great war," said Marshweed, descending the sheer steps. "But mostly it was dragons dedicated to bringing in food from the mountains after oh three."
"What was it like before your tribe split with us in the war?" asked Otter. "Just curious."
Marshweed wrinkled his nose. The acrid smell was worse down here than it'd been on the outside, if that was possible.
"Alright. Our rations were fishy but good. Between Tempest's assassination and Burn's treaty with the queen, it was awful. There was hardly anything to eat. There was nothing to be made to barter for food. Our tribe used to be great in trade. Then… I don't know, but something happened."
Otter reached the floor of the second level, then picked his way through the narrow, defensive corridor before going down again. His voice echoed in the catacombs.
"Welcome to the most advanced chemical manufactory in the world," he said. "And it all fits in a mid-size basement."
Marshweed stepped into the room, and looked quickly around him. There was a myriad collection of piping and valve work, so complicated he couldn't begin to comprehend what did what and which thing went where. The tubes would start from the bottom of a vat, then vanish into the labyrinth. And then there were the vats – big cylinders sitting elevated on outcroppings of stone, glowing eerily from the green light of the luminous fungus which was the core of all underground illumination in these parts. On the far side of the chamber stood a row of corrugated cylinders.
"I smell bronze," he said. "Wouldn't iron be more durable?"
"Sparking," said Otter. "Steel and steel or iron nicking iron makes for a spark shower. We can't have that. As for the pipework, it's just like the tubes and bellows which ventilate the fort, only more complex."
"Where's it all go?"
"There's a cistern in the wall, and we put any excess in those barrels there."
"They don't look like barrels," said Marshweed. "They look like big canisters of what-not."
Otter laughed.
"They're lighter than they look, I assure you, but the product is quite viscous."
"I've been here four years and I still don't understand a whit of it, beyond 'don't set fire near it' and that it's a weapon."
"We think we could imitate dragonfire if we had the technology, but… the idea is ahead of its time. What we have is too fragile to work in the field. Even so, we have the capacity to make a good deal of change."
"Yeah," said Marshweed. All the same, the business was farfetched; more the stuff of a futuristic yarn than the real world.
"For moons' sake, the valve sprung a leak again," said Otter. "Gimme a wrench."
And Marshweed was dragged into more work, despite being off shift.
Figures.
"What size did you want?"
"The big one."
Marshweed rummaged around in one of the red toolboxes, rooting through metal junk he barely knew existed, and didn't know the uses for. Mostly they revolved around screws and bolts, which as far as he knew were like nails, but more complicated. Finally he pulled out a long shank of metal which smelled of high-quality, low-carbon steel: expensive stuff.
"Is it this?"
Otter looked over his shoulder from where he was leaning into the pipework.
"No. Bigger."
Marshweed dropped the already arm-sized tool into the box, and it hit with a clank. More rummaging. He held up a longer, heavier version of what he'd had earlier.
"This?"
Otter looked over again. "Toss."
Marshweed did, letting it go in a long sweeping motion of his forearm that sent the wrench spinning into Otter's claws. The Seawing caught it in one talon with a grunt, letting the metal scrape the floor before he hoisted it to the valve, gritting his teeth. A hefty object for a Mudwing was a heavier one for anyone else.
So they fell to working, Otter explaining things as they tightened up the pipework and twisted fabric around the joints to prevent leaks. It went slowly, but it was enjoyable in the sense that Marshweed was working, completing a task few others on Pyrrhia would've known how to begin. Ere long the job was done.
"All it needed was time and elbow grease to get it in shape," said Otter. His talons and sea-lights were covered in a thick coating of oil and grime, and so the illumination in the cave was dimmed; the Seawing's luster dulled. "I wish the dukes would get their heads on straight and use it. Half of this was Gill's idea."
The name struck a chord in Marshweed. "You mean your old king?"
"He was an innovative dragon," said Otter. "He had ideas to change the world, about machines, technology. He saw what was possible, and he convinced others to think like him. My father was part of his school of thought. That's why I'm an engineer."
"And then Scarlet captured him, right?" asked Marshweed.
Otter huffed.
"Between you and I, it was Blister that did it. It was she that set up the trip. Gill didn't want to be in the war. He saw it as silly infighting we shouldn't have been a part of, and he kept Seawing troops off the continent. Blister was losing at the time, and, she couldn't have that."
"Then she tips off Scarlet and the Skywing queen is thrilled to have an exciting new hostage," said Marshweed. "I get it now."
Otter snorted. "He was killed by his own daughter, of all things."
"What?"
"Yeah…"
"Shame."
They stood in silence for a while; eyeing the dull bronze pipework they'd serviced.
"Bet Arrow doesn't want his guys dawdling in the basement," said Otter. "Let's go."
Marshweed had to tear his gaze away from the beautiful vats and machinery. He understood now.
Two hours, a meal, and a shift later, he was awakened from the boring half-sleep of night watch by movement in the waters. There was movement on the eastward side of the island; a mass just beneath the surface of the ocean, moving against the lazy eddies and leaving v-shaped ripples in its wake.
"Bogey in the water, stay frosty," he said, stirring the other lookouts. He waited till it came closer to shore, then spoke in a louder voice. "Who goes there?"
A snout popped up among the frolicking waves.
"Messenger from the dukes, sir, for Arrow's eyes only."
"Code?"
There was a pause. "Albatross."
"Welcome aboard," said Marshweed. "Hey, you, get out there and show him the door."
"Yes sir."
An enlisted Mudwing plunged off the side of the squat fortress and glided to the beach. The Seawing courier emerged and made the water boil; head and neck first, horns next, then body, then legs, and tail last, padding onto the damp night sand with webbed feet. What with the dim glow of his scales and the inconsistent moons-light he looked like a ghoul.
"Come on in," said Marshweed. His suspicions were calmed, but still his heart raced. He did not much like goings-on in the dark. "Are you hungry?"
The stranger shook his head no, flashed a code in Aquatic. "Too tired," he said.
"No aquatic outside," hissed the enlisted. "Arrow wants light discipline."
"My bad."
The two went around to the back entrance and filed in one-by-one. Marshweed fought the temptation to go inside and see what was happening – it was Arrow's problem now. It was a bad lookout who eavesdropped on his superiors, because his inattention could get them all killed. He turned his eyes to the sky, heart settling, blinked and imagined the enemies Swordtail had warned them about, because he had never seen them, then opened his eyes and saw a flickering yellow light in the distance, moving across the horizon from right to left as he looked north.
He blinked again before he understood what it was; a lantern.
"Scope," he said. "Now."
It was squirreled away on the camo netting somewhere – he was probably standing on it. A dragon fumbled in the dark and gave it to him the wrong way around. He straightened it and held it to his eye, holding his breath to dampen the rocking motion of his body. There. Three dark outlines moving against the sky, blacker than the void, and a disembodied set of orange stripes holding a lamp, its metallic case just visible to him at this distance of perhaps three miles. At first the stripes confused him, until he remembered the briefing on their enemy, and realized he was setting his eyes on one of their soldiers.
"All quiet," he ordered. "Everybody downstairs, tell Arrow we have Hivewings to the north."
He folded his scope, then treaded the taut netting until he reached the back; ducked through the gap and slipped inside, on the heels of the lookouts. Snores echoed through the passageways. The rest of the fort was unaware that trouble was afoot. They would soon learn, if he had his way.
Finally he came to the conference room.
"Urgent report for major general Arrow," he heard a dragon say. It was him.
"Come in and give it then," said the general. Marshweed slipped inside and closed the door behind him with his tail.
The general's ears drooped, and his eyes jumped from one place to another instead of coolly surveying the room as they had in the morning. In true military tradition, he'd probably been woken up less than five minutes ago. Swordtail was not in the room, but Otter was, looking just as tired and confused. The courier was present as well, with his ears perked up and his stance rigid.
Marshweed wasted no time blathering.
"A Hivewing patrol just three miles north of here, sir. I saw their stripes and their lantern."
The courier looked down. His light -
Arrow drove to the point. "Did they see you?"
"I don't know, sir," said Marshweed. "I ordered us down as soon as I thought there was a possibility we might be spotted."
"Let's assume the worst," said Arrow. He looked at the table, calculating. "This jives with my orders, anyway. Otter, get the plans for the machinery copied and on waterproof scroll by noon tomorrow, as well as a manifest of required materials. The dukes have authorized us to pull out if necessary."
There was a problem with that.
"Permission to speak," said Marshweed.
"Granted."
"What will we do with the product?"
"No island storage place is secure, and we can't put it underwater. Either we get it to a safe place on the continent, or it will be destroyed. If we're overrun I will enact the self-destruction protocol, or use it to set a trap. You will carry it out."
Arrow pulled a strange mechanism from beneath the table, mounted on a wooden block as if it were a pulley. "This is a wheel lock. There will be a rope attached here, which you will pull, after setting the spring. Once that is done, the wheel will spin, and the flints mounted on it will scratch the steel here, igniting the product."
"Yes, sir."
"I am glad you understand," said Arrow, putting the mechanism on the table. "You will bolt this onto the mid-level of the fortress, and you will be prepared to pour and ignite the product on command, even if you are inside this fortress. Do you accept?"
Marshweed's mouth dried until his tongue was the consistency of sand. Could he kill himself for, for this? He looked around the room, gazing into each dragon's eyes in turn until they dropped.
"Yes, sir."
Arrow's snout softened.
"It's nothing personal. But somebody has to do it."
Marshweed shifted rightwards, tail scraping the floor, talons clicking before going silent. With two words he'd consigned himself to death, if events so warranted it. He'd enlisted knowing this could happen. He just hadn't ever expected it to.
"We will now discuss intelligence," said Arrow. "Our courier has given me a briefing on what the dukes know. That is to say, nothing. Our knowledge of continental circumstance is zero. We already have reconnaissance flights scouring the local area, but we need an eye in Pyrrhia. Options?"
"The dukes might have information in a couple of days," said Otter. "Waiting for them to give it to us is less dangerous than sending recon. It also places us in danger of being sieged, but that is a risk in any case."
"We can get in touch with the Mudwing government," said Marshweed, bringing himself back into the conversation.
Arrow shrugged. "If they still exist. Even if they're out of the picture we can still make contact with local resistance groups."
The words fell over Marshweed like a cold rush of air. The Mudwing kingdom had never been overrun in its five thousand year history. He was being asked to imagine the grossly improbable.
"We already have two wings tasked for continental recon," said Otter. "They're geared up and ready to leave at dawn, as you ordered, sir."
"Good. I want talon-picked, hard-nosed soldiers who can handle themselves, not sheep," said Arrow. "Make sure of that. I'll have harnesses prepared as well."
He paced in the space between his side of the table and the wall, wings brushing the bare and utilitarian furniture.
"That will be all," he said. "I'll have word for you in the morning."
"Yes sir, sir."
Marshweed nodded, then opened the door for the farsighted Otter. The smaller Seawing slipped through without a word, and then it was his turn to squeeze his way between the stone jambs, made of blocks which always caught his scales when they passed in the gaps between the cut rock. Arrow closed it behind them, and it stopped on its hinges with a cla-clunk, then clicked when the knob was released.
"So," said Marshweed. "That was… something."
"We live in interesting times," murmured Otter. "Especially you."
"Yeah."
They went on through the hall, then paused at the crossroads where they normally parted ways. Otter's work room was on the right; Marshweed's bunk on the left.
"Look. Are you ready to sacrifice yourself?"
"Maybe. I don't know."
Otter seized him on the shoulder with a talon, the claws digging into Marshweed's scales. He was whispering, but Marshweed could hear every word. "You can't go to your grave with indecision. Are you, or are you not?"
"I don't fucking know. Moons. You heard what he said. Somebody's gotta do it, so why not me? Why not me."
"Because you've got your life ahead of you."
"So does everybody else."
Otter stepped back. "I hope that never happens."
"I do too," said Marshweed. "But it's not something I can help."
"Fuck. Wish it could be someone else, maybe some shitface from downstairs."
Marshweed laughed, but it was an empty laugh. "It's not like it has to happen. Don't worry about it. You're gonna be busy with stuff… I'm going to get my forty-winks."
Otter snorted. "Good luck with that. I'll uh, see you in the morning."
They parted ways in the darkness; Otter to dozens and dozens of scrolls, Marshweed to his hard, uncomfortable bunk; nothing more than a box of coarse gravel. There was an indent in it from where he'd slept for the last four years. He got in and laid on his right side, as he always did – and then he turned.
What if they do come at us with overwhelming force, and Arrow has to bail? It's better for them if they can all get out and leave one behind instead of us getting locked inside and whittled away by our enemies.
His eyes slid open, surveying the dark room; the dim patches of blue light that moved on the wall whenever a dragon shifted in the hall.
I wanted to see home earlier today.
There's nothing there for me.
I want to put my claws in mud instead of sand.
He held them up before his face, tensing the muscles he was so proud of, knowing if the hellfire downstairs went up he'd be ash in a heartbeat, that the last memento of his existence would be this little print in the gravel bunk.
Why was I so excited about the equipment today? All it does is make me obsolete. If I'm obsolete, there's no reason why I shouldn't pull the cord. The world needs brains now, not brawn.
I should look at what I did with the camo net today. That was me. I organized putting that up. Someone cares.
The possibility I might die in service comes up and I'm suddenly an insecure dragonet.
He smiled at that thought, and what was so serious a moment ago suddenly became something to laugh about. He was a dragon, dammit, and if he was going to die he would die with dignity.
He still didn't get any sleep that night.
My biggest difficulty was the Seawing dialogue - I don't know how to make it sound any better. This chapter was a bit of a break from war!death!famine, which it was supposed to be. I should have the finisher to it worked up in about two weeks.
Hopefully you enjoyed it, enough to come back next time, or leave a review for me so I can see what you thought. The little box is right here for you to use. If you're so inclined, there is my profile. I have a poll up which you can vote on, and a couple of other stories people might be interested in, and etc, etc.
Thanks! Signed, Black.
Published August 16th, 2020.
