Deep Space in the Center 2/b System
The rock was a small one, a few hundred tons at most. It consisted of silica and a few other substances that had been superfluous to the requirements of building a huge space station and no less than a dozen Star Gates. It had orbited around the Star Gate constellation at a lazy pace for nearly 20 millennia, until something had changed its vector. Now it was approaching the space station in a spiraling path that would eventually lead to a collision. Currently it was still a hundred kilometers from its eventual demise that would not happen for a few hours if nothing untoward happened.
As the rock had neither facilities to receive the messages sent via the electromagnetic spectrum, nor any capabilities to parse those messages if it had received them it continued on its path. One second, it was an unassuming piece of rock, the next it was surrounded by a green-tinged halo of light. For a second it seemed like it would not affect the speeding debris, then all of a sudden its atoms ran out of reasons to stay together. A cloud of infinitely fine dust dissipated into the void.
Its demise was closely monitored by Morgenstern's crew, who had set the rock on its final journey a day before. They also watched the rocks that were still in play, having been set on paths close to, but not identical to the one that had just vanished.
Frank Herbert was monitoring the spaceship's sensors and had followed the rock minutely, so it might tell them how to approach the space station safely.
"91.82 klicks out, the same distance like the last two Nathan. I do not think the decaying orbit made any difference, it was zapped at the same point as the one we threw right at it."
Nathan drew in a deep breath.
"So approach speed makes no difference meaning we cannot just creep in. Did we receive the same signals again?"
"Yes, and we transmitted what Hypatia thought would be the right answer. It most obviously was not."
The cartoonish face on the pad before Nathan did not look abashed at all.
"It is very likely that the station is on an extremely low degree of autonomous decision making. It sends out a code and we would have to answer with a countersign. Without either a database of codes or an algorithm that generates it we will not be able to convince the meteor defence system that we are allowed to pass."
Morgenstern's commander was about to give vent to his frustration when Frank Herbert muttered "Now that is funny."
"What is funny?" Nathan asked.
"When we pushed that last piece of debris off a few bits and pieces fell off. The biggest of them may be 80 or 90 kilograms of mass. It is still approaching the space station and it is not shot at."
"It is likely that the meteorite defence is low on energy and prioritizes on bodies which can do serious damage to the station. I just fail to see how we may profit from this, given that Morgenstern has a thousand times more mass than that."
Hypatia's voice was as unemotional as only an AI could be.
"I am not so sure about this. We have a couple of repair drones that are around a hundred kilograms. We could easily reduce that mass a bit if we leave some tool arms on board. We could have a closer look, or maybe disable sensors and weapons."
Bashuur was more upbeat than he had been for quite some time.
"I am not sure how the meteorite defence will react when we start blowing things up, but a closer look will not hurt I guess. Bashuur, Manfred, prepare a repair drone for a recon mission. Let's see what other options we might have."
Nathan Alpers was not sure if the mission would open up new options, but keeping crew morale up was at least as important as that.
Kreißsaal 2, Westpfalz-Klinikum, Kaiserslautern, Germany
With 140 years of history, Kaiserslautern´s main hospital had been the place of many childbirths, on average over 2,000 each year. But it was not often to see the waiting area before a Kreißsaal (labour ward) this densely packed. Family and relatives were normal, but not the mass of doctors and nurses watching the live-feed with concentration. Nor was it such a common occurrence that an Imperial Elector Count was in attendance as well.
Said Elector Count, Manfred von Carstein, was watching the birth of his newest family member with a curiosity equal to the medical personnel. The von Carstein family had living branches, but that someone from the „night side" was now arduously trying to bring new life into the world was something he would not miss for anything.
That was a important and exceptional occurrence, as one young doctor, named Bär or so, had voiced minutes before. „How can someone not alive in the common sense give birth?"
That was a very good question and one several doctors, among them Gerd Schneider and Maria Sailer, who had recognized this pregnancy first, were busy investigating. As far as Manfred had been informed, magical talent of the living partner played an important role, but the research was still ongoing. Still, it was clear that one day soon they would know more.
Watching the birth on the monitor feed was something Manfred von Carstein would have never thought possible just 20 years earlier. And Annika was holding up admirably, all things considered. Count Manfred had memories from his mortal times, of women being pregnant and giving birth, but that had been from an age when midwives had some poultices, herbs, cooked out cloth and hard earned experience. Magic had been available, but was expensive in the extreme.
Here and today Annika von Carstein was in a special room for birthing, a team of highly trained midwives, doctors and nurses were in attendance, high tech tools ready for use and last, but not least several sorcerers. The spellslingers were partly hospital staff and partly visitors, no surprise considering such an unusual birth.
In a certain way, Manfred von Carstein was slightly amused that all these people were more busy gathering data and adapting to the highly unusual pregnancy demands than the birth itself. He did not consider himself an expert, but at two hours this birth was far from an extremely long time and should soon be over, since the lead midwife announced that the head was finally emerging. For someone unused to births, how it was done could be disturbing. One of the midwives and a doctor were putting physical pressure on Annika´s womb, helping the kid coming out. Annika´s fangs were extending and retreating at irregular intervals and the father, a very lucky fellow in Manfred´s mind, had been savvy enough to wear a special metal brace for Annika to cling to. There were visible dents and cracks all over it from being gripped with unfocused vampiric strength for hours.
Then the child was finally out and everything was fine... or not? There was no scream from the infant, the doctors and midwives crowding around it, looking for what could be wrong.
„I do not see anything wrong, why the fuck does she not scream?"
„I´ve done everything correctly, but she does not scream or mumble anything... OK, the whole works, blood pressure, heart beat, breathing, the works, STAT.!"
It was only now that the newborn was heard and it was not the „traditional" scream of unfolding lungs and airways, but a noticeably annoyed half-scream half-exclamation. Still, the tension felt by the medical staff fell off in a bout of roaring laughter. Well, their work was mostly done, but for the parents their work had just begun. And it was „worse" than for normal parents. The girl in Doctor Sailer´s arms was not normal by any biological means. Raising her would be very much a learning by doing experience and the new family would be very regular guests at the hospital, simply because nobody could know what was normal for her and what was not.
But that was a concern for the future, now the important deed was giving the new-born to her parents for a first hug. But for those outside waiting anxiously, it was announced loud and clear. „It´s a healthy girl!"
Deep Space in the Center 2/b System
The drone had all the elegance of a flying tool chest. All angular lines, antennas, heat shields, and folded manipulator arms it had accelerated to an anemic 50 meters per second relative to the huge space station that filled its forward sensors alarmingly. It was one of four such drones, used by Morgenstern's crew for all manners of maintenance and repairs. Unassuming as it was, Nathan's hopes rode with it. It had already passed the imaginary line kept by the space station's meteorite defense without triggering a lethal response. Its sensors began to reveal details that even Morgenstern's telescope had a hard time depicting. From far away, the space station seems monolithic and somewhat featureless, when one got closer that illusion broke.
Protrusions that might be antennas or other sensors, structures that were probably radiators, observation domes and lines that hinted at closed doors of some kind. And all of that on a scale that boggled the mind. The space station exerted measurable gravity, but the drone's RCS thrusters were enough to keep it hovering before something the size of a huge church tower mounted in a silver bowl.
Nathan looked at it together with Hypatia and Frank Herbert.
"So this is one of the disintegrators?"
Hypatia shrugged her virtual shoulders.
"It is not a model that I recognize, but the basic principles are there. So, yes Oberstleutnant Nathan Alpers, it is very likely that this is one of the components of the meteorite defense system."
"Jeez, that thing is slightly bigger than the Eiffel Tower. I doubt that ten kilograms of explosives would even dent that thing, let alone take it out."
Nathan tried to keep the growing desperation from his voice. He had been hopeful they could disable the space station's defenses, but that was clearly not happening. How on Earth could he….
Frank disrupted his train of thought.
"Hypatia, what is that thing over there? It does not look like it is connected to the space station structure."
Nathan saw a tear-shaped object at least a dozen meters in length close to the disintegrator. It looked a bit like a calamari with a bunch of tentacles emerging from what had to be its front end.
Hypatia's answer managed to sound even more annoyed than usual.
"Again you ask me to speculate from incomplete data Major Frank Herbert. I can tell you that it is a drone, probably used in the maintenance of the transshipment center. Of course I cannot tell you either its exact model or its precise function. As it does have the same temperature as its surroundings it is likely either shut down or defective. The transshipment center projects a very shallow gravity well, but it was obviously sufficient to pull it against its surface. Does that satisfy your curiosity?"
"Yes and no. I do believe that this thing has a mass exceeding a hundred kilos, maybe even a couple of tons."
"That is very likely given its size, yes."
"So it must have some sort of IFF right? So that the meteorite defense does not destroy it?"
"Major Frank Herbert, you surprise me with an original thought that should have occurred to me. Yes, if you can bring this drone to Morgenstern I can try to analyze its storage systems."
Nathan felt a boost he had missed for the last several days.
"Bashuur, see that your drone grabs that thing and then bring it back here."
"Will do."
While the drone had not been fixed to the space station any way it did not want to part. Vacuum preserved like few other things, but keeping solid surfaces in contact with each other had consequences sooner or later. It was just that in this case "later" was probably measured in millennia. Bashuur was a master of working the drone remotely and every bit of that mastery was needed to pry the object from the space station's cold embrace. The Dawi engineer wrapped the drone's manipulator arms around the object when it had been loosened. Eyeballing the center of mass he juggled the object around until the drone's thrust was mostly through the combined center of mass. It took two involuntary looping circles and creative swearing by Bashuur before the drone could accelerate in something close to a straight line.
Nathan's newfound enthusiasm took a small hit when the repair drone just managed to accelerate its advanced counterpart to a measly ten m/s, Morgenstern's crew would have to wait for a day until they could catch up with potential salvation.
When the German spacecraft and the two drones finally rendezvoused it took them nearly another day to open the drone and extract anything that looked like data storage. It took Hypatia an unprecedented 32 minutes to read their contents and build an algorithm and copy a database. She gave a 62% chance that her results would work.
Sausage stand close to Central Train Station, Berlin
The sausage was served on a paper plate, cut into bite-sized pieces and covered with a pungent red sauce and yellow curry powder. There was a bread roll to go with it. The sausage and sauce combo was just like Ottokar Proktor liked it, spicy enough to etch paint. It was once of the few vices the secret agent allowed himself and was unlikely to cause any problems. The round table before him was the right height to eat standing, and would allow two people to use it at most.
"Is there room for one more?"
The voice was cultured, but the question just rhetorical as another plate hit the table before the agent could answer. It held a sausage without sauce or even mustard, it would be nearly tasteless to Ottokar. The hand that held the wooden fork was slender, pale and strong, it emerged from a stylish leather jacket.
"Be my guest."
"Isha be with you."
The German looked up from his food and met Aeolus' gaze evenly.
"She may be with me, but you may be not for much longer if I read your message correctly."
The Asur gave him a deep shrug.
"What can I say? Ariel has decided she needs to have eyes and ears in the new and improved Naggaroth. And she has only one professional ambassador at her disposal, so she asked Silva to make for Naggrond. The new Druchii government has already agreed to her posting, as long as they are allowed an embassy in Athel Loren.
Working for you was quite exiting Ottokar, but I am not going to miss my love after I thought I lost her at the Glade of Kings. And Naggaroth is said to be the place where elves can live like they want to, not as oh-so important traditions dictate. Might be interesting."
"So you want to quit?"
"Yes."
"I am not going to try to change your mind then that is made up. But I have this proposal for you…"
Aeolus injected a measured dose of skepticism into his tone.
"I am not sure if that is a good idea…"
"Oh come on Aeolus, you can do with a bit of funds. It is not just Ariel who wants some ears on the ground. I am not saying no wetwork at all, but that would only be if Wolfgang has another surprise in store, one that would really hurt us all."
"I will think about it Ottokar. I am not saying yes, just that I will think about it."
"Good enough for me."
Deep Space in the Center 2/b System
The rock had been a part of something bigger, the tidal forces of a dozen Star Gates had ripped that apart. Morgenstern's crew had accelerated several of its brethren towards the space station and all had been destroyed most thoroughly. This one was on a similar course and approached the line where all its predecessors had met their demise. The space station was bombarding it with radio messages asking it for a code that would allow the defense system to ignore it. Unlike the rocks that came before this one actually sent a reply from a small transmitter anchored on its surface.
Nathan monitored its progress and observed with baited breath. Like the rest he dared to hope when it passed the 91.8 km mark where all the other probes had been destroyed. Not wanting to look foolish he did not join the chorus of "gogogogo" of Svea and Frank, but cheered it on regardless.
He could not and would not repress a "Yes" when the rock passed the station by two kilometers and made its way into the uncaring, endless void.
"Hypatia, Frank, when did our probe start receiving the queries?"
The AI took the ball.
"The meteorite defense system started transmitting the requests when the probe approached to 511.5 kilometers Oberstleutnant Nathan Alpers. The transmitter managed to send the correct answer when it was 440 km from the transshipment center. At 223.2 km the transmissions by the defense system changed their format and ceased thereafter, so we may assume that the correct answer has been given."
Nathan started to smile.
"Good job everyone. Manfred, Erik, I need a course that allows us to approach the space station to 440 kilometers, but to break off if we do not receive the signal before the 223 km line.
Frank, break out the main telescope, we need to scout potential landing sites. Bashuur, prep a recon drone with a suitable transmitter. We need to scout whatever Frank turns up. Looks like we can hold up our end of the bargain Hypatia."
"We are not yet inside the transshipment center Oberstleutnant Nathan Alpers, but I acknowledge that a major hurdle has been passed. Congratulations seem to be in order."
Frigate Sachsen-Anhalt, Uzkulak, DawiZharr Harbor
The 155 mm gun on the frigate's forecastle roared when it went through a fire mission. That the barrel dropped markedly between each round indicated that the impacts would be pretty much simultaneous. The projectiles arched over a town that had been a version of Steampunk Babylon on an acid trip. Now it was the same, but the drug had been bad and the town was looking even more like hell. The massive Ziggurats showed long burn marks, other places had just rubble where warehouses and residential areas should be. There was a gaping, smoking hole in the middle of Uzkulak where Hashut's temple had been, now it was a boiling pit of lava.
The projectiles were closely followed by a quartet of new naval MLRS rockets which had been shot from a silo in the ship's VLS system.
A drone was spotting for Sachsen-Anhalt's big guns, it now provided a picture of the impacts. The artillery managed to drop all the rounds in a line that exploded more or less simultaneously, throwing huge amounts of dirt into the air. The MLRS bathed a football-field-sized area in the sparks and crackles of their bomblets.
It did not look that impressive when it was viewed on a screen in the ship's command and control center, having no sound effects and lacking any dramatic music. The Orcs that were in the picture's background were obviously more impressed, stopping their charge then and there. They raised their weapons in a mute challenge, their open mouths hinting at the bestial screams and cursing the drone was unable to transmit. The Greenskins stopped in place, making no retreat, but also no headway.
The frigate's captain nodded towards his gunnery officer.
"One more MRSI mission, a hundred meters closer to the Orcs if you please Mr. Meyer."
"One more MRSI mission, aye."
Even in the frigate's CnC, a windowless room removed from the forecastle, the crew could feel the concussion from the heavy guns firing.
The impacts were closer to the Orcs now, and both warriors and their steeds could be seen flinching from the shockwaves that washed over them.
There was more pantomime as the Greenskins made unheard threats and useless boasts only they heard and no one believed, including themselves.
They rode off soon thereafter.
All of that was watched by a nearly a dozen humans and a single DawiZharr. While he was so much shorter than the German sailors his hat made up for it and the cloying smell of whatever he greased his beard with filled the room.
"We have guns and rockets too. Why do they run from yours and charge at ours?"
Captain Schmäling shrugged.
"All of the Greenskin clans try to go through the World's Edge Mountain range sooner or later. That you try to enslave them might have something to do with that, but they think fighting, killing, and looting a fine ole time all by their own. They find guns like ours when they try that these days, our Wallmeister have secured the passes well enough. Some of them learn to respect our artillery, the others won't learn anything anymore. So have we fulfilled this part of the deal?"
It might be Ushaak the Lame's natural voice, maybe he had to work hard at hiding his disgust at talking to a human as an equal at best and a supplicant at worst.
"Yes, yes you have for now. And how about the foodstuffs?"
"We have been there before, haven't we? You can either eat or you can have slaves, you cannot have both. A sack of potatoes for a slave was the rate we offered, didn't we?"
Ushaak's ample shoulders dropped a bit.
"Yes, we did and you shall have them. They are useless to us anyways, now that they can no longer build ships or farm for us. Oh….what will become of us captain? Our own god, the one that chose us among all others tried to kill us all. We can no longer work our magic into our machines, and yours are so much better anyways. We sacrificed so much of us to gain magic, so that we might survive in the Dark Lands and build machines for war and Hashut's glory. But now….?
It was cold outside the frigate's superstructure, Schmäling's voice was colder.
"I will admit that I am a bit short of sympathy for a bunch of torturers and slavers Herr Ushaak. You will have to find a way if you do not want to live off Reiksbund alms. But now that you know that technology alone can work miracles, now you see what is possible. If you are as clever as you believe yourselves to be, you can figure out how to build a technological civilization of your own, one that does not need slaves to survive."
Pursuit Special 300 meter AGL, Sea of Malice
Yerena's voice was slightly tinny when heard through earphones over the din of the engine.
"You are back where we started Hartmut, as my observer. Does that mean I get to hold the whip this time?"
Hartmut Klawitter indeed tried to spot something from the biplane's back seat He grinned under his mask, remembering how frightened he had been when Yerena had been a mighty dragon rider. He had been assigned to her as an observer as he could speak Dominating Sperenthiel, knew how to work a wireless set and age-old NVGs. He had been the only German among a lot of Druchii, and Yerena had taken him under her wing, which came with some interesting side effects. Their relationship had shifted when he had killed two Wyrms with a rifle and even more when he became a pilot.
"Only if you finally remember to trim the plane yourself and don't need me to remind you. Next time I have to do that it costs you."
The laughter that answered was a bit stilted. Not as Yerena dreaded anything he might do to her shapely back side, but as she indeed had to remember the many tasks that kept a plane in the air. Her dragon had been killed during a demonic assault on Leviathan. Given that a dragon's usefulness on the battlefield had decreased markedly and dragons were in short supply she had transferred to the mercenaries' aircraft wing. Her training had been a challenge so far, as she was an accomplished dragon rider who had to unlearn the hard-earned experience of centuries. Nobody had to teach her navigation or wireless procedure, but her ride had taken care of such niceties as trim and fuel state itself. Her core competence, being dominant enough to control a multi-ton being of claws, teeth, hate, and poison did not impress the wood and aluminum of her biplane. She had to start anew, something she hated doing and that she shared with her whole race. Their current flight was an example.
"Yerena, steer left to 230 degrees, I think I saw something."
"Left 230 aye."
This time the Druchii managed to find the right combination of bank and rudder that pulled the Pursuit Special in a smooth long curve. She spotted her observer's target soon enough. The Sea of Malice's waters were of the deepest black, cold and unforgiving. In its midst were hints of silver reflections that appeared and disappeared in a bewildering dance over a field the size of several football fields. Cold as these waters were, they were rich in oxygen and plankton, and so they were teeming with fish. That bounty had never been hunted with modern techniques, so there was more than enough to be had.
Klawitter used the wireless to report their find in, Yerena circled the school of fish till she saw the two landing boats approach. A few weeks ago these converted barges had shipped the Cathayan Expedionary Corps and the Wild Geese from ship to shore, now they carried improvised masts and hand-made nets. The ships were ungainly and ill-suited to the task, their crews were trying to learn as they went. In the end it did not matter, in waters like these they were able to haul in fish by the ton. They were direly needed as Naggaroth's food situation was strained indeed. Getting tons of protein on the table would ease the situation somewhat.
RSS Morgenstern, Deep Space in the Center 2/b System
Nathan's field of view from the left window was completely taken by the space station's vast surface. That the transshipment center was several kilometers from the spacecraft made inroads on Nathan's confidence. That Morgenstern's port RCS thrusters had to fire periodically to counter the space station's gravity put human achievements into a disturbing perspective. It was far better for Nathan's state of mind to watch their progress along a course that would take them to a loading dock. The last days had been exciting as two of Morgenstern's drones could perform several flybys to determine a good spot where Nathan's crew might enter the station.
Even the unaided eye could spot the docking arms that jutted from the space station's equator into space like kilometer-long starfish arms. Rail systems sported empty gondolas waiting for freight, manipulator arms the size of humungous cranes hung limply with no containers to move. Hypatia had told Morgernstern's crew of containers bigger than the spaceship and out-massing it comfortably which had been taken from humungous spaceships. They had been taken into the transshipment centre for storage and been replaced by similar ones for the next trip the Old Ones had ordered. The rails terminated in doors several hundred meters across. They were ringed by many smaller ones, and they were the best entry point Nathan could spot.
Morgenstern was currently turning along its axis, pointing its thrusters towards the docking arm that was their chosen destination. Even the VASIMIR drive did not need long to reduce their Delta-V by the few hundred kilometers they had on the huge space station. Manfred Bettin used the RCS jets for some fine tuning, stopping the space ship directly under a manipulator arm. Morgenstern extended a smaller one of its own, gripping its huge counterpart. A bit of experimentation showed that they were securely anchored.
Nathan let out a breath he could not remember holding when the space ship came to rest.
"Good job everybody. Frank, Bashuur, get your drones cracking, I want to open sesame."
Neustadt, Neustadt Commonwealth, Naggaroth
TV-screens were pretty rare in Neustadt, and this was one of the biggest ones. It was also the most ignored, hanging on the wall of a small, but well equipped workshop-cum-drawing office. Its owner and occupant had better things to do, at least most of the time. Now he was watching a commercial of all things, one that promoted a product no citizen of Neustadt would ever use. It was about the most recent Porsche Taycan, a ferocious, elegant beast of a car if the specs on the screen were to be believed. The carbon-fiber driver's bucket seat held an elegant, redheaded woman. She was clad so that nobody would take her for an ornament, but was still very enticing.
The driver pushed a plate in the middle of the steering wheel, which promptly retreated into the dashboard. The car continued to drive down an unlimited speed highway while the woman clasped her hands behind her back and stretched.
She had only one line of text, one that fitted her like a glove.
"You will never enjoy freedom like in a Porsche. And believe me, I know all about freedom."
Anya was in Germany, negotiating recognition of the Neustadt Commonwealth, a free trade agreement and sounding the options for joining the Reiksbund. Torsten could not be with her, currently there were several open warrants for him in Germany, he missed her terribly whenever he thought about it. But as much as he missed her, her side-lining advertising activities paid off and gave him such wonderful new opportunities. Porsche had given him the license to produce and sell the Porsche tractor in Naggaroth, including all the drawings and specs needed to make it. He had been asked to alter the sheet metal a bit, as the Asur might otherwise take exception, but that was something his assistants could do in an afternoon. He dreamt of all the things the little engine could do besides driving a tractor. A small truck like the original Unimog might be built around it, it would drive pumps, it could power threshers and small workshops…
His train of thought was brought to a screeching halt by the smell of a woman who had approached very close without him noticing. When he turned around he found his draftsmen and assistants were gone, replaced by a supremely desirable, lithe woman who wore very little, but for a couple of cuffs. It was Magda, the "pet" Morathi had presented to Torsten after his rearming several Black Arks had allowed the Druchii to sink several DawiZharr warships. Magda had become very withdrawn after Morathi's death, so the German was surprised to see her at all, let alone on a prowl. Her voice alone took most of his reasoning faculties away.
"Good evening Master, how may I serve you?"
It took Torsten two attempts to answer semi-intelligently.
"Good evening Magda. You know that Morathi is no more, and that we do not have slaves? That you do not have to call me Master and wear cuffs or a collar."
"Oh yes Master, I know I do not have to. But I want to."
Torsten Breitkop shivered.
Space Station 2/b
Behind Bashuur Rogach and Manfred Bettin was the vast blackness of space dotted with brilliant, unblinking stars. Before them was the unending hull of the space station, dwarfing the two astronauts like an imposing mountain range. The lights on their suits depicted a line that hopefully showed where the auxiliary lock to the auxiliary lock of one of the freight docks was. It was a mere four meters in diameter and had probably allowed for quick EVA access. Now it was one of the very few possible ways to enter the space station Morgenstern's crew spotted so far. That there was a faded yellow-red striped border around it had helped in the discovery.
Both astronauts had fixed themselves to the space station with the gecko-pads on their space suits' auxiliary arms. They inspected a panel besides the door. It held a 2D-monitor that was as dead as the space around them and a couple of physical buttons that elicited no response at all.
Bashuur's voice was even more gruff than usual.
"I still think this is a waste of time. This station has been abandoned since before the War of the Beard started. The seals on this doors and the hinges must have fused by now, we might as well open this with one of the lasers."
Manfred Bettin was distracted by the panel before him, so the answer was less hot than it might have been.
"We both saw the meteorite defense system work. Are you willing to bet our lives that is the only thing that still works and defends this station?"
"Whatever".
"Well here goes nothing, but look here, there is a catch of some sort."
The space suit's glove was thick and still managed to push a catch aside. Slowly, against great friction, a small door opened, revealing a lever. There were some pictograms beside it, which probably meant that the lever should be moved repeatedly.
Manfred's mood brightened considerably.
"That might be an emergency opener, works a hydraulic pump maybe?"
"Yeah, a pump as fused as the hinges, working on fluids evaporated for a thousand years.
The German declined to answer and instead grabbed the lever and gave it an experimental pull. To his amazement it moved after a little sticking. He had to exert himself, using his power enhanced by his space suit, and would have flown into space if not for the gecko anchorage. The power needed to operate the levers did not change a lot after the first movements, which was a bit surprising. It he was working against stuck parts the going should become easier as he kept moving the lever. Why…
"Grimnir's beard."
"What's up Bashuur, don't you…."
"The bloody lock is starting to open, that's what's up. Fuck me that should not be happening."
Bettin was so surprised that he stopped pumping for a moment. Like the dwarf he had thought the lock would stick for all time and they would have to blast their way in.
"Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. Let's see who is keeping things nice and maintained."
He resumed pumping the lever until the door was at 90 degrees. That was when his heart missed a beat as the lock lit up. It was not a full bright illumination, just a flickering greenish glow given off by an emergency system on its last leg. It served to accentuate the darkness beyond the first meters though.
"Morgenstern, this is Manfred. Good news, we managed to open the lock's outer door. Bad news, we are not sure if anybody is home."
Lothern, Ulthuan
The inside of the Asurian airport was a shining example of the future the true elves might achieve. While the Germans had built it with modern methods its graceful lines were rooted in High Elven aesthetics. The concourse's wall to the ramp and runway were nearly all glass, but the opposite one was graced by beautiful murals. Statues depicting elven heroes lined the walkway and intricate fragrances suffused the air.
What computers were used to conduct the airport's business were discreetly hidden inside beautifully carved desks.
The stores alongside the concourse offered German electronics, Asurian clothing, and knick-knacks from all over the Warhammer World
The baggage carousel disgorged Aurelius' luggage quickly, immigration was more about polite greetings than paperwork. Ulthuan still had yet to issue passports to its citizens, useful as they might be for travelling through a travel network provided by the Reiksbund.
When the automatic glass door slid apart it opened a view to another world. The road before Aurelius was cobblestoned. It might be the best fitting cobblestones apart from some Dawi work that the ambassador had ever seen, smoothed over by countless horseshoes and iron-rimmed chariot wheels. Still, it was covered by horse manure. It would be swept more often than anywhere else, but it was still horseshit. Beautiful lamps adorned the fronts of all houses, they would be lit in the evening to light the streets as Isha asked her chosen people to. They would flicker and wane in the early hours of the morning, leaving patches of darkness. The horses in front of the carriage that waited for Aurelius would draw respectful glances, as their manes were braided with sky-blue ribbons, indicating that its passenger was high in the Phoenix King's regard. Beautiful and well-made as the carriage was, it compared less than favorably with the ride to the Altdorf airport Aurelius had taken in a used Mercedes taxi.
The palace was a wonderful edifice, a feast to the eyes and a testimony to Asurian art, craftsmanship, and a promise to rule wisely forever set in stone. The fact that the majordomo who announced him hammered his staff home with an extra flourish on the second strike, that he announced no less than four of Aurelius' titles, would have elated him to no end merely a dozen years ago. The increase in status that this indicated and the many glances he received when he entered the Phoenix King's throne room would have been a dream. Now he had to suppress a melancholic smile when he saw the assembled courtiers. They still tried to give the old answers to the new questions, and that would not do. Even worse, the news he was about to announce would reinforce the illusion that this would be enough when it so clearly was not.
He took to the knee in front of the Phoenix King, who released him after less than four seconds, another clear sign of the high favor he was in with Ulthuan's government. He allowed himself a moment of Schadenfreude when he saw that Osirion, his superior and detractor, stood on the Phoenix King's left, and separated by no less than two advisors.
Finubar's voice was all the wise ruler and still let a calculated bit of curiosity and happiness to see Aurelius slip through.
"Isha is with Us, as she allowed our esteemed ambassador to travel to Us quickly and safely, so he might bring us glorious news about the end of the war in Naggaroth and about the death of the Great Betrayer Malekith."
Aurelius thought about E-Mail and Skype for a millisecond while his voice went through the customs formed by millennia.
"I am honored to be in the presence of such august Asur of renown, doubly so that the Phoenix King is looking for the meagre scraps of wisdom I might bring."
Yes, reporting before the full court as compared to a private one sucked badly, given that he had to confirm to the various mores of ritual, but improved his standing. One he was about to risk badly.
"As the Reiksbund has soldiers in Naggaroth and as the mercenaries who enthroned Imperatrix Bane are rumored to have ties to Germany, I had the opportunity to hear and confirm news from Naggaroth."
Aurelius managed to keep "as could you, if you were to use radio, internet, and TV more often, you dolts" to himself.
"I can indeed confirm that Malekith and Morathi were killed by the very mercenaries they hired to defeat the DawiZharr. The dire threat he and his realm posed to the true Elves is no more. Not only is their king dead and replaced by someone sane by all reports, his former realm has been weakened, maybe fatally so.
Seven out of ten Druchii of fighting age are either dead or crippled. Their greatest source of modern weapons, the factory-fortress known as Neustadt, has declared independence. The former Druchii slaves fought valiantly beyond anybody's expectations and were relieved by Reiksbund elite forces. Neustadt is now the capital of a sovereign state and highly unlikely to supply the tools of war to their former slave masters.
The slaves still alive in Naggaroth who allowed so many Druchii to live a life of murder and slaving will either be repatriated or join the Neustadt Commonwealth. Those who want to stay in Naggaroth would be allowed to do so, but only a very few are expected to.
Very soon the Druchii will have to turn to farming and fishing, or they will simply starve. No longer will they be able to send so many raiders all across the world for years, because they simply lack the warriors to do so.
The Reiksbund will occupy the festering sore known as Karond Kar and will control who enters and leaves Naggaroth. It is extremely unlikely that they will allow Black Arcs or other ships in the slave trade to pass. They will repatriate all Asur they find alive in Naggaroth with all due haste.
The mercenaries who killed Malekith and set Imperatrix Bane on the Obsidian Throne have a very bad reputation in Ulthuan as they killed many during Malus Darkblade's campaign. At the same time they number 5,000 effectives at best, and if the rumors about them being influenced by Germany are true, they are very unlikely to even try to attack us. Even if they would, we have also gained modern weapons of great power. If they were to bring the battle to Ulthuan, they would perish quickly before our armed might.
In short, the shadow cast by our misguided cousins over us for five millennia is finally gone."
There was a silence louder than a gunshot in the throne room for a brief moment that felt eternal. Even the longest-living among the Asur could not remember a time free of the ever-present threat of the Druchii. Hearing that this threat, the one that had shaped their lives, their morals, and their very identity by far too large a margin was gone was a world-changing event for them. Even more, it was a defining moment for the Asur, the moment they got to choose their future.
The cheers that rose were jubilant and melodious, with the right measure of restraint and dignity, as befitting the true Elves.
And of course it was brought to a halt by the voice that Aurelius was least happy to hear.
Osirion, the closest thing to a foreign secretary the Asur had stepped forward and made sure the light caught him just the right way. His baritone voice was carried throughout the throne room.
"All praise be to Aurelius, the true Elf that sacrificed his living in civilized society to watch and advise the younger races in their development. He has brought the best news possible. Not only are we free of Malekith's threat and treachery. Aurelius brought us the message that we can go back to the ways directed by the gods and hallowed by time. No longer do we have to sully our lands and the minds of our young, so that the Druchii may not gain the upper hand. Ulthuan and the true elves can return to the days of glory."
And that was the moment Aurelius had seen in his meditations, defined when he had his mage read the tarot. It was the moment when he would have to use all the standing, all the respect he had accrued in a dozen years on what was foretold to be a forlorn hope. He valued the respect of his peers, having earned it so late in life and through so much soul-searching and learning. And yet, he had sworn to serve the Phoenix King and his race to the best of his abilities, he could do no less.
"I love our way of life, our great history and the many traditions that sprung from it as much as any other Asur. And yet, we need to examine each and every one of them to see if it still brings value to the true elves in such changed times."
The Asur around him looked as if he had thrown cold water on them. The courtiers were some of the noblest, oldest Asur who had taken the indignities of the new times as it was necessary in the defense of the realm. Now they had been shown the vision of the sunny uplands, and Aurelius told them they were not to be had. In a few moments the surprise was about to wear off, scorn and hatred would replace what standing he ever had in their eyes. And yet duty meant he had to add insult to the injury he had already inflicted.
"As much as I am happy that Druchii raiders will no longer appear on our shores and that no DawiZharr cruisers chase our ships, they will not allow us to return to the glorious ways of days gone by.
Not that the utter certainty of Chaos inevitably winning, of an endless struggle for the survival of a waning elven nation had been that glorious, but mentioning that would kill any chance of him being heard.
"While there will be no Black Arcs threatening our coasts, there are advanced merchant ships of several races that threaten what is left of our far trade and the wealth we earned from it. There will be no more DawiZharr cruisers which we have to guard against. But the Dawi have bought far more potent warships than their chaotic cousins ever possessed and will build more of them. Do we want to rely on the Reiksbund to protect us from the next Dawi king who had a look into his Book of Grudges?
There will be no Druchii rifle regiment that murders our cavalry for a hundred years or more. And yet, many nations and states now establish modern armies and that makes them a potential threat, even if they are friendly neutrals or allies now. I cannot believe that the Asur want to stay defenseless in a world that knows war like no other.
If we want to be the captains of our own fate, if we want our voice to be heard, then we need to be able to make our own steel, forge our own weapons and build our own ships. And we can do that only if we change the way we have lived for millennia. We cannot allow eight out of ten Asur just to grow the food for the other two. We need to be able to move raw materials and finished goods in huge amounts. We need manufactories full of machinery, the funds to pay for them and the power to run them. And that means we need more railroads, not scrap the ones we have. It means teaching our young things no true elf ever learned and to give up traditions we cherished for all the time there were Asur.
The old ways have served us well, but they were for the old world. This world is changing at breakneck speed, and the Druchii serve as ample warning what happens to those who do not change with it.
And in a way the very same Druchii pose a higher threat to us than they did during the last several years. Because if we do cling to our old ways the young Asur, already chomping at the bit, may very well move to this new Naggaroth and try to make their dreams come true there. This threatens our very future….."
Aurelius of the House of Ethelorne could have continued for far longer, but he could see that any further words would be wasted on those in the room with him. He was arguing against many millennia of experience, of tradition, and a deep seated conviction that the true elves were the best at anything they choose.
Those in this room had rarely, if ever left Lothern, let alone Ulthuan, they had no idea about the enormity of the changed that gripped this world. He knew that the Phoenix King saw the need to modernize, but it had been hard going even for him. If Osirion and his ilk were successful in seizing the moment it might slow the Asur down even more, maybe fatally so.
And that was the moment when Finubar, king of all true elves spoke with a voice that was as cold as it was weary.
"Aurelius of the House of Ethelorne, you have served us faithfully and well during the last dozen years. You have spent a long time with those not of the Asur, maybe too long and this has changed you. I would fail in my duties as your liege if I did not recognize that.
Aurelius, you are to groom your successor as ambassador to the Reiksbund forthwith, you will be relieved of this hardship post in no more than three months' time."
The words hit Aurelius like a spear made from ice, it took all of his considerable willpower to remain erect and not protest his king's decision. Still, his misery nearly masked the Phoenix King's next sentences.
"The truth is no less the truth when it is ugly, when it challenges our beliefs and cherished memories. This world is changing and we will need to adapt. I know of no Asur who knows that better than you do, Aurelius of the House of Ethelorne.
Make all haste with your hand-over, because there is a place at my right side for a counselor who knows this changing world. I need an experienced navigator to steer us through the troubled waters into the future, and I want you to be that elf."
There was a stunned silence in the throne room, one that lasted longer than Finubar liked. He was about to lift an eyebrow when it was replaced by applause and restrained cheering. The assembled courtiers and nobles would not know a browser from a bowler, but they recognized the shifts in politics very well indeed.