Chapter 819 – Cannibalizing Salvation

Lattice #21: Winter Column has completed the space test. Lattice #22: Emissary To Heaven, is launching within the hour. Tomorrow, Lattice #23: Wolfsbane Communion, Lattice #24: Night’s Shade and Lattice #25: Taste Of Oleander are scheduled for the beginning of their tests tomorrow. This is an official notice from Million Man Command that we have completed a quarter of the required lattices, we are schedule for the beginning of phase two: Lattices #26 through to #50, inclusive.

Nevertheless, it has to be said once again. Whereas the numbers have been adjusted, the most severe roadblock still sits in terms of steel and nuclear reactors. The floating island number has been revised, and we shall now hit a roadblock at lattice #71. If the completion of phase two is delayed, we may be to start on phase at full efficiency. Nevertheless, whereas the islands themselves are non-negotiable, they are still the ones that give us least trouble.

Nuclear reactors are, by and far, the most critical component in addition to raw steel. Whereas the latter cannot be supplemented by another material, nuclear reactors can. We do not have enough power generation for all of the lattices required in phase two. We do not even come close to the total figure. Current official estimates and production schedules suggest that we shall not hit the target, even to impact date, much less within the official guideline targets.

This notice serves as a red alert from Million Man Command, my Emperor, that what is being asked of is not impossible on a technical level, but it is impossible, physically, on the timescale we deal with. Whereas obviously, we cannot adjust the impact date, alternate power sources are required.

Attached are documents detailing the current estimates, along with our own plans from the Bureau of Engineering and the Bureau of Infrastructure. The solar panel proposal is the most feasible, nevertheless, the issue it carries is one of critical rare earth metals. The Empire is currently operating at strain, whereas nuclear power is not efficient in terms of construction time, it is by the best option we have when it comes to conserving resources: A switch to solar would hasten the aluminium shortage by two weeks. Other sources of power generation are also listed, nevertheless, anything that requires tankers will.

- Million Man Command Weekly Report.

The city of Tull had grown again, Goddess Aliana and God Arascus had made the announcement together, the Leechworks Cannibalizing Location of Tull, or the LCL as everyone called it, had been declared. The city’s drydocks, what had been a torrent of ships for the Imperial Navy had turned into a river by the end of the war. And then the river turned into a trickle of state of the art vessels. And that became a trickle once the dockyards were retooled for civilian tankers and luxury yachts instead.

The Second Arc’s coming had brought it to a total stop. The ban of non-essential metals from being used for anything but the construction of Space Lattices had killed the port. Maximilian’s wife had worried when she heard the news, and how they would pay for everything. It wasn’t a worry though, they had savings, there had not been much to spend money on during the war. And the port’s silence had not lasted long either.

Within the month, the LCL had been announced. Maximilian’s title had changed from shipbuilder to wrecker and putting things together, he was now tasked with taking them apart. The job had sounded like a farce at first, and then everyone had found out that the materials were actually going for the Million Man Miracle, and suddenly, they were heroes for undoing bolts and slicing into metal with cutting torches. The feeling at Tull was almost the same as during the Surface War. All hands were on deck, and everyone was working and someone, day-by-day, they felt as if they were taking a step to salvation.

A week ago, the Dolphin Dancer had arrived. A ship that looked nothing like a dolphin, and it would not be able to dance even if it grew legs and someone stuck a dress on her. Not a way in Hell. A cargo ship that was nearing the end of its lifespan, not young by any means but definitely not a vessel that should be decommissioned. But Maximilian was not here to make decisions regarding what ships were coming to be deconstructed. So he had slicked back his dark hair and put on the climbing harness as the waters drained from the dock.

It was incredible what the open ocean could do to a ship. The teams were split and assigned, Max had not been lucky enough to be on any of the internal sweeper teams. Instead, he, and the majority of the wreckers, had donned their climbing harnesses, descended from ropes, and slowly worked at removing the barnacles and rust that built up on the underside of the ship during its voyages. High pressure water jets, strong enough to cut through rope, would cut into the underside of the dirt, and then what remained of the buildup would be scraped away with steel sponges and grinders.

It was tiring, exhausting work. But the Dolphin Dancer had needed it, especially after months out at sea. It had been ferrying the massive containers which would be unloaded on ports before the war, and then reassigned to auxiliary logistics. Newer vessels had taken its place, and the end of life date had been brought forward. Now, parts of it would be going into space.

Parts that Maximilian had cut out himself. The outer hull was taken apart first. Would could be unscrewed was unscrewed, what had to be melted through and cut with a torch was melted through and cut with a torch. And once the outer hull was done, the Leechworks cannibalized the rest of the ship in less than a day. The engine was dismantled by a team of twenty. The massive heavy fuel tanker was not to be damaged, that was being sent off to Pheonix Nest too, apparently. The rotors would be smelted down. Those had crashed down into the concrete basin of the drydock and cracked it.

Everyone had done silent at the echoing thunder. At first, it looked like the foreman was going to scream at all of them for not tying it onto ropes, but one of the military officers that had been sent. A man that no one knew the name of who would walk around in a long black coat and cast glares whenever something wasn’t up to the high standards of the Imperial military. He took no issue with smoking, nor with allotted break-time, but the moment anyone paused to so much as check the time on their watch would result in a reprimand. Every drydock had been assigned one, apparently.

Dolphin Dancer had taken three days to turn into irrecoverable scrap. Then came the INS Vanguard Sovereign. A smaller destroyer of the Imperial navy, a quarter of the size of the massive cargo ship, and filled with so many electronics that the first sweep had only finished when the outer shell of the ship had already been cracked open.

Vanguard Sovereign was not a wrecking operation, that was sure. The radar had to be strapped to ropes, cut out with the base, and then specialists would actually work on removing it. The engine, a model that came from Doschian Factories which Maximilian knew how to install and that was that, was likewise just as important. The fuel tank too.

And the parts that excited everyone were the parts that were not listed on any of the important lists. The massive turrets that everyone had been awed by, who wouldn’t after all? They were dismantled and haphazardly moved through into the recycling pile. One of the massive cranes that usually would bring parts ready to be affixed from pallets and from the backs of trucks now reversed its operations. Loading massive, intricate pieces of metal onto trucks that would be taking everything to sorting facilities, and what would happen from there… Maximilian didn’t bother to ask, but he knew that most of the Vanguard Sovereign was in good enough condition for it to be sent to space.

After the Vanguard Sovereign came another destroyer, the INS Summer’s Dream. A poetic name, and it was only right that the ship be destroyed in spring, so that it would not see the summer. By summer, it would be a dream in fact, and it would embody the Imperial dream and… Maximilian gave up on trying to write poetry in his head when he had to take the reinforced glass out of the command bridge of the ship.

The orders from the book on this one were easier, at the very least. The ship had taken a hit to its left side. The right side was going to recycling straight, the left for sorting. Most likely they would be checking which metal had to be reforged from scratch and which could be used for something else. The military ships were a treat though, even if this was only the second one. You could find bottles of the good whiskey that the military issued, and one of the wreckers found a pack of Iri’s, Of Darkness’ branded cigarettes. There were photos to find, and spare casing from bullets, and someone had supposedly found a pistol.

Most of the loot was for them to hand in or take home as souvenirs, the policy was unofficial, but it seemed like even the man in the black coat knew what was happening and was deciding to turn a blind eye to it as long as no one waving something precious around like a trophy. Summer’s Dream had taken two days, because once the method was standardized, there was no trouble with cutting a radar out of a ship and scouring the rest of the vessel like ants picking apart a corpse. It was even somewhat cleaner, the barnacles on the underside needed just a pressure wash for them to flake off.

And now, for maybe the first time in a week. No ship entered Maximilian’s assigned drydock. There were still dozens of them anchored close to the shore, and the number grew every day even as there was a constant line feeding steel hulls into the angle grinders. Maximilian pulled out his cigarettes offered one to Clews, the team leader as they leaned over the steel railings of one of the massive scaffolds from which men would descend down onto ships. “Thanks.” Clews said. “Break time.”

“Feels like shitting on company time.” Maximilian replied as he lit up and Clews chuckled.

“Fucking say that again because I checked the schedule. Our girl just hasn’t arrived yet.” He checked his watch. “Half an hour before we see her over the horizon and for the lads from Ana to get here.”

“Ana?” Maximilian asked and Clews whistled. “Do I want to know?”

“Allian Nuclear Agency.” Clews finally answered after a drag of the cigarette. “Fucking nukes.”

“Fucking nukes.” Maximilian said. “So it’s a big one.”

“It has to be.” Clews said. “Let me check.” He pulled out the clip-board that stacked with papers. Some parts of the Empire were terribly efficient. Some parts were downright farcical. The Team Leaders did not even get personalised documentation, there was simply a rota everyone was expected to print off for themselves. And Clews could not even do that, he just printed off the whole damn eight-page list. Maximilian stared at it with wonder and awe and held back the urge to laugh. There was a reason Clews was working here and not at a Bureau after all, but the same could be said about him too.

Clews stared at the paper for a while, at one specific spot, blinking as if he wasn’t believing what he was seeing. “Big one.” Maximilian said.

“Tremali.” Clews whispered and then stared flipping through the pages. “That can’t be fucking right.”

“It has to be another Tremali.” Maximilian said. There was no way that was possible. The Tremali? The one in the photos? And the posters? The one that was supposedly one of the Navy’s pride and joys? The one that children wanted to sail on and that people would line up for when it came to dock? No.

“It has to be.” Clews said as he flipped the page again and then settled back into silence. “There, Tremali, Imperial Navy, Aircraft Carrier, Tremali-Class.” He cut off. “Aircraft carrier. What the fuck.”

“On us?” Maximilian asked. “Here?”

“On us and here.” Clews replied. “That’s…” He sighed. “At least it’s not the Kassandora.”

“They wouldn’t dismantle the Kassandora.”

“This is the Tremali.” Clews tapped the sheet. “The one.” He looked at the reference code on it. All the news ships had one, and then brought out the order book. “Nightmare this.”

“Tell me about it.” Maximilian said. These were publicly available. It was on the news everyday, Maximilian watched it whenever he got back from Tull’s huge, sprawling docks. For him, it was more about trying to catch if one of the camera crews that came in record would have caught sight of him. For her though, it was more to do with the fairness of it. They had wanted to buy a car and the order had been denied. At first, it had been rage and fury at the sheer injustice of it.

Now though? When the Empire was pulling its own navy apart? It did feel better. Fairer in a way. Just. What was a car if the situation was so serious it was getting to this? Clews flicked to the Tremali’s code and sighed. He stared at the page for a while and then shook his head. “I was a murderer in my past life, I had to be.” He whispered to himself. “What the fuck.”

“What?”

“We’re to recover the onboard nuclear reactor.”