Chapter 804 – Building The Future To Soar Towards

Yes, because we are the great dark that they talk about! We ARE the nightmares that keep them awake at night and we ARE the people they tell stories about to make their children behave! We do not bow to their lesser Gods, we do not kneel and beg for our salvation. We look at the treasure on top of the mountain and we do shirk from the climb! No! We rip the entire peak off its ledge!

Because yes, at this point, it is matters of existence and extinction and there is no in-between. We ARE barbaric! When they dropped an apocalypse onto our lands, we DID return the apocalypse back to them. And, ladies and gentlemen, we did it to the sound of thunderous applause! Because if the scouring of the Second Arc from existence is the price we have to pay to teach them a lesson that Arda’s independent existence is something that is not on the table, then we shall destroy a hundred Second Arcs!

At this point, citizens of the Empire and citizens of Arda, there is no slowing down on what the Empire has built. We are talking of horizons aflame with nuclear hellfire and their bones failing under the weight of our Imperial Army. We are talking of planets and stars that will come to see the light of Arda, and will bow their head to us. We are talking of Gods because Arda does not just breed Gods, the Empire builds them!

The Gods in the sky that watch over our skies, that we hear every time an Imperial bomber begins to drop its cargo. The God that is the nuclear bomb, that we build, fire, and build again! It is hellfire on a Divine scale, and it is something built with these human hands! Because that is the Empire, ladies and gentlemen. It is the ultimate Divine that we have ever conceived of. Each of us is a cell, and together, we do not just not have the strength to withstand an apocalypse. We do not have just have the strength to withstand the Second Arc. We do not just have the strength to ride out into the stars and drop tungsten rods onto them!

Together, as one, we are the deciders of life and death. It is not enough that they merely tolerate our existence. It is not enough that we force them to acknowledge us. No. They have decided to try ending our world. And they better believe themselves successful.

Arda does not give second chances.

There will no second, Second Arc.

Our children will look up at the sun, and they will it know it their birthright. Through today’s sacrifice, we build a future that they will soar through.

- One of Goddess Helenna’s, of Love’s, many speeches given to the Empire. This one was given in Zawitz.

Governor Goose, although what he was the governor of at this point, he did not know. There had been a time when managing the Karitska steel refinery had been as simple as turning up in the day, and making sure that everyone got here on time, and that the workers were being their wages, and then checking the commodities markets to see what steel was being traded at.

Goose wiped his moustache again and looked away from the blinking computer screens, he had three of them installed now. Two more than he was used to, but everything had to be tracked. From shipments and which of the individual refinery sectors were falling behind, to given out orders and parking spots for the trucks, to the fucking refinery expansion that was ongoing even as the place was still operating at full capacity. He turned had to give his eyes a rest and turned to the window.

Outside, it was the dead of night, although that meant today. It meant little yesterday, it would mean little tomorrow. Karitska had not slept for the past month, it would not sleep for the next six months and everything had to be kept working even when the pipes were already starting to show the signs of clamouring for a rest. The steel would have to hold though, because the Empire needed metal, and it needed to build a shield for the planet, and it needed…

It needed fucking everything. Goose looked up at the dark sky, the harsh light from the refinery hid the stars even on a cloudless night. Half of the illumination was the freezing white luminescence of floodlights that lit up the everywhere important men had to walk. The other half were the orange blazes of furnaces and forges and molten metal being poured onto into bars. Cranes hoisted up massive loads of processed metal and poured them onto trucks, men on the ground would scurry to pick up whatever had spilled or fallen over. There had been a time when such a poor performance would have gotten Goose demoted, but the need for haste had come from the very top ranks.

Pairs of Clerics constantly wandered up and down the refinery, and more were stationed in permanent medical tents that would treat bruises or breaks or burns. The injury rate was being tracked per hour now, nor per month. Something would drop on someone’s head, or a truck would bump someone else, or scorching molten metal would splash and scald the skin off an arm. Goose let go of the breathe he only realised he had been holding and walked back to his monitor.

He had stood looking over the refinery for maybe a minute. In that minute, another three trucks had made notice of their arrival and were asking for which station to go to. And down below, as Governor Goose made his decision, Milbrand stood with a notepad and a radio. The refinery worker made his quick inspection of the truck to make sure it was not smuggling anything that it shouldn’t be inside. Under once, then inside the cabin. Romuald, the driver, opened his door but did not bother getting out. “You got smokes?” Milbrand asked. The flashlight very obviously settled on the carton of cigarettes that had been opened already.

“Five a pack.” Romuald replied.

“I’ll take two.” Milbrand pulled out his wallet and a ten Mark note from within. The deal was swiftly made, Goose was probably backed up right now. Sometimes, the trucks would come through so quickly that an inspection wasn’t even done. Sometimes, they had time to talk. Milbrand stared at the truck, the dust looked odd though. Greyer than usual. “Where did you come from?”

“Klavdiv.” Romuald replied, lighting up his own cigarette in the truck. “Can I close the door? It’s fucking cold.”

“Klavdiv?!” Milbrand asked. “The dwarf place?”

“You should fucking see it.” The driver said as the vehicle finally stopped beeping. Ore, rocks, metals, everything and anything slid out from its rear. “Door boss man?” He asked.

“Close it already then.” Milbrand said and stuffed his hand into his pockets. If the driver was complaining about being cold, how did he think that Milbrand felt? It was freezing at the gate, the entire region was being kept in an artificial state of four degrees above freezing. Four degrees less, and the water pipes would start to burst, along with the ore that already sat dumped in the loading bays. Four degrees more, and apparently some mathematician had worked out that the massive cooling towers which expelled steam would not be able to keep up. “Fucking hell.”

“You wanna swap jobs?” Romuald said from his seat. The driver had given Milbrand the tiniest amount of courtesy, a miniscule crack in the window.

“Fuck yes I do.”

“Well fuck.” Romuald said. “I got nothing for you.” He chuckled. “You tired or no?”

“Falling asleep.” Milbrand said, he checked his watch. “Two hours on this shift.”

“But you only do eight hours, right?”

“Eight only.”

“We do twelve and twelve.” Romuald pointed his thumb to the back. “Other driver is asleep there.”

“But you don’t freeze your bollocks off, do you?” The radio finally buzzed. Goose’s monotone voice came through, the refinery governor did the same twelve-twelve shift as the driver. “Governor Goose to Gate Three-A. Direct cargo to bay four. Over.”

“Copy that.” Milbrand replied and shoved his hand back in his pocket. “Bay four. Straight ahead, markings are on the ground and one signs. One, two, three, four.” Milbrand had refined this set of instructions down into the minimal amount of words he could possibly get away with. “Now fuck off.” Romuald chuckled and rolled the window back up as he drove through that was always open. Milbrand thumbed the two pairs of cigarette packets and cursed himself for even buying them. What was even the fucking point when it was so cold that he didn’t want to take his hands out of his pockets. But then he thought about the workload getting worse. If ore was coming from Klavdiv, then suddenly a cigarette did not seem like a bad idea. He wondered how the dwarves were doing. Was there a dwarf called Milbrand somewhere down there? Also smoking. Probably not. Milbrand still chuckled at the thought.

Kaloyan stabbed his pickaxe into the stone and pulled at the mineral. The rock fell past his feet, settled, and then he kicked it off his platform and onto the conveyor belt below. Klavdiv had seen a resurgence with the relighting of the Suns under the Surface, and now, it was seeing a second resurgence with the bringing down of Imperial heavy machinery. Modern plumbing and electricity had been one thing, but they were just cheaper and easier substitutes for old runology.

This conveyor belt, the bore-hole machines that would dig out straight tunnels. The diamond-tipped drills that were being sent down. The sheer mass of humans as temporary workers reignited the lights in the deep and the life in the Hold. Kaloyan swung his pick again. It lodged into another section of stone, and this time, he pulled and sent it over the edge onto the massive conveyor without needing to kick it. And again. And again. The air here was hot, more so by the sheer mass of bodies that were working.

To Kaloyan’s side, a few steps away was another dwarf. Then another. And then dwarves down, one of the humans had come with a drill and was showing a group of the stouter half-men how to use it. Kaloyan’s team would be next then. Probably in a few hours when the next shipment of advanced tools was delivered. The dwarf sighed, slammed his pickaxe into the vein of ore again, and pulled with all his might.

The large chunk landed on the platform, and Kaloyan pushed it off with his shoulder. He watched the stone tumble down, land on the thick, moving steel plates, and then smash into a dozen pieces. They were digging at a rate that would make any of their ancestors blush with envy. Klavdiv hold itself could not keep up. The refineries down here could not be automated entirely and needed input from runemasters, and a thousand years of darkness had left too few runemasters to work it all.

So Kaloyan’s belt fed only into the crusher, a massive set of dwarf-bronze grinding rollers that would devour and break the stone apart, and then it the remains would be spilled into trucks. Kaloyan looked into the distance, he could just about barely make out Klavdiv, although this deep, the Hold was not lit up. What was lit up. Where the trucks that were waiting. Massive steel beasts that the humans had made and drove, the sort that put every dwarf to shame. “Ey, Kalo, spacing out.”

“Right.” Kaloyan turned back around and slammed his pickaxe into the stone. Tony took the tooth-pick he let soak in purely water, and nothing else, and definitely nothing that needed to be reported and grimaced at the bitter taste of it. It kept him awake though, he felt the buzz immediately, not so strong that as if he had snorted it, but strong enough that it would keep him awake until he got to the Klavdiv spiral road.

Supposedly, a straight line was being dug out right now, one a shallow enough incline that trains could be sent up and down it. Tony believed it was happening, if the Empire could send Ashen Skies back to Tartarus, then they could very well dig a long hole in the ground. But the scale of it would run for a thousand miles, and frankly, he needed to see a thousand mile tunnel before he believed one could be built.

He put the clutch in, felt the engine begin to purr, shifted to first gear and began to drive. This tight bridge was the worst. No one had fallen off it yet, Tony intended not to be the first one. It was wide enough for four trucks together side-by-side, and the Empire made sure to use every inch of space it had. Two lanes out, two lanes in, and sometimes, it became three and one depending on which end was backed up.

Tony kept his eyes away from the endless darkness to his left side and kept his eyes fixed on the green light ahead which marked the end of the bridge. He shifted into second gear as he picked up speed. This route though was known by heart and it never changed. None of the corners were sharp and the incline would start soon. Tony kept his hard on the steering wheel and didn’t switch higher. With the amount of weight he was pulling, the truck would not manage a higher gear.

Eight hours, and he would see the sun again and switch with Malcolm, who was sleeping in the back. Or trying to, the man shifted nervously even though the dwarves made roads so smooth they put the finest motorways to shame. “We over the bridge?” Malcom asked.

“We over the bridge.” Tony replied. The green light disappeared behind the ceiling of the truck.

“Fuck.” Malcolm said through a yawn. “I hate that part.”

“I know.” Tony said.

“Should have been a mage.”

“What? And work under Elassa?” Everyone involved in the Million Man Miracle met a mage eventually. And everyone asked the same questions. And the answer was never good. Apparently, Elassa was worse to work under than Kassandora.

“Don’t give me that shit.” Malcolm said. “I’m not believing those flying fuckers. They’re probably waving wands around right now and chanting their stupid fucking chants right now.”

“Did a mage fuck your wife?” Tony asked and chuckled to himself. Whereas some hated trucking, he had no issue with it. The job was comfortable, the Million Man Miracle had basically culled the inspections to zero. And he would rather be here than on a mountain somewhere. And definitely here than in Pheonix Nest.

If someone had ever told Saron he would be laying out wire in his career as a mage, he would have laughed the man out of the room. But here he was, on his knees, dragging a spool of flattened wire backwards and making sure it lay perfectly on the white marks that had been painted by another magician. Goddess Elassa would come to inspect the finished circle and she would complain, because that was what Goddess Elassa did.

But the magician’s ritual chalk was delicate and nothing could reasonably replace enchanted dust that was sprinkled into place or the oil-based paint that would glow when mana poured through it. And both of those substances had a problem of temperament. Atmospheric weather magic, no matter how powerful it was, could only do so much.

Weather controllers could not suck the dampness out of the air, nor could they entirely eliminate the winds that bit once the cloud layer was passed. And someone had ran some experiment and talked about how a six months of cancelling clouds in the area would devastate the local flora, so that too became a last resort. And thus, there needed to be a way to draw these ritual circles and protect the drawings themselves.

So naturally, the dumbest, most tedious, brute force solution had been chosen. They would be covered with thin metal wire. One sheet to hold it together, then another sheet that was a half-loop which would be bolted on. At the very least, Saron was not doing the bolting. He scooted backwards, the thick kneepads almost gliding on the steel. And continued to carefully unspool the sheet.

Above him, another helicopter was blaring, the rotor making a horrendous amount of noise throughout Pheonix nest. An island was coming in from the south-east too, yet another one to be added to the long holding bay. That was still filling up although soon enough, as more trains and more trucks brought the required materials, it would start to shrink.

Nine islands went into the prototype. One in the centre, that one was the largest, with its own nuclear reactor that would power the others. Then eight around it in a ring. Those had steel constructions that flared out even wider, until the structure could swallow a whole town and still have some room to wiggle about in. Saron hated thinking about that know, he wanted the spool to run out so that he could give his knees and back a break. Above, that helicopter still and settled into position.

General Menith stared down from his helicopter as the cameraman by his side took more images. Some things had to be seen to be believed. Seeing a set of islands hover in unison, a spiderweb of steel connecting them, complete with steel plates for the side rituals. A web of capillary veins that were actually ziplines being tested, thick electric cables connecting the main islands and affixed to steel beams with massive loops.

Even if the whole structure hovered off the ground no higher than a tall tree, it did not matter. That was it. One lattice of the Million Man Miracle was almost done and ready.

Ninety-Nine to go.