CatastrophicFailure

The Force is strong with this one...

Well it looks like I'm obligated to bring the chicken back at some point, now.

You must find your lack of frame rate disturbing.

You see, Ivan, when bend entire airplane instead of just tail—where is wing?

Cool!! I'ma go start sticking my head in bushes right now!

Need a gif of those two M&M's saying "it does exist...!"

Chapter 91: Out of Her Mind... Back in Five Minutes! Bing-bong Damas y caballeros, hemos empezado nuestro descenso. Por favor abroche su cinturón de seguridad y aseguren su ganado y respaldos de asientos en sus posiciones vertical. Sabemos que no tienen ninguna opción cuando viajan, pero te agradecemos por volar con AeroAndacamia de todas formas, porque lo tenemos que hacer. The chicken stared at Valentina. Valentina stared at the chicken. The goat continued to stare at nothing in particular while munching on the seat ahead of it. All in all, she had had far more unpleasant seatmates on long flights. The goat next to her mostly kept to itself, eschewing the in-flight meal for the worn vinyl and stained foam padding of the seat next to the chicken. Having tried the in-flight meal, Valentina wondered if perhaps the goat was on to something. The chicken, however... It had spent the entire flight looking back over its seat, eyeing her suspiciously. How this was even physically possible, she still wasn't quite sure, but wasn't about to go questioning the chicken over it, either. It seemed more than a bit... shifty. Ignoring the peering poultry for the moment and turning back to the window, she looked out over the checkerboard pattern of farmland and jungle far below. It didn't make any sense. It didn't make any sense at all. Why on Kerbin would... She had read the letter in the envelope. Then read it again. And again. And again. Then she had tried to transliterate it, wondering if perhaps it wasn't someone's idea of a bad joke, substituting those odd Eastern letters for proper Keryllic ones into what looked like words, but was really just unpronounceable gibberish. FФЯ PЦTIЙS SДКЗ! It just didn't make any sense! A space center. In Cerima. Even that sounded like the setup to a bad joke. And this space center was assembling in orbit the largest spacecraft the world had ever known. Only, the world didn't know about it. No one did, save for a relatively small cadre of personnel that Valentina was, somehow, now a part of. Apparently the Kommissar had been sending people for years, since the early days of the space program. Scientists. Engineers. Technicians. People she had known, who suddenly "disappeared." But no pilots. Never any pilots. Until her. Other agencies around the world had been doing the same. Often without even knowing it. All shrouded under the umbrella of a secret program by the Layland-Wutani Corporation to land on every body in the solar system. And along the way, to scout sites for future interplanetary colonies. The outer moons of Jool were of specific interest. And orchestrating it all from the shadows, was her old friend Edmund Kerman. She had pieced the rest together for herself. Edmund was corrupted by that... that thing. Shadowstained, the Kommissar had called him. And with all his "friends" and contacts, Edmund was in the perfect position to spread that stain into all sorts of positions of power. For all she knew, everyone was... infected. Maybe even the Kommissar. He was a part of it, after all. A significant part, using his office to direct people and materials, ostensibly at the behest of the Imperium itself. And somehow he had gotten her on the roster to fly the next assembly mission. But that didn't make any sense! His orders, once she got there, were unambiguous. Whatever the cost, destroy the ship. By any means necessary. Valentina sighed as she looked out the window. The squares of farmland had abruptly ended, and now nothing but pristine jungle stretched off in every direction. She still couldn't quite see the border from this angle. Someone had told her she couldn't miss it. Somewhere out there, was Cerima. It was madness. The plane hit a bump, and she felt a great disturbance... as if millions of voices suddenly cried out in terror, and then... just cried. She feared something terrible had happened, far, far away. For now, she pushed the thought away. What she had been through on the Mün still haunted her. She had to tell someone, but... not just anyone. Someone. Someone very specific. She just wished she knew who. And why had Chadvey's voice— "Hullo, lass!" "GAH!" said Valentina. "BUH-GOK!" said the chicken. "WAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!" said the goat. Valentina looked around frantically, but it was only the same motley crew of passengers and livestock that had been there before. The chicken, however, was eyeing her even more suspiciously. Then where—? "Ah'm in yer head, lass." "My head? Why—" the chicken narrowed an eye at her, "why are you in my head?" "Well Ah don't really know, presumably Ah'm just a repressed subconscious manifestation again. Ah really should have finished that degree, but th' professor was quite batty." "But... I can hear you... and people are staring," she stuck her tongue out at the chicken. "Hmm, well that is rather concerning. Near as Ah can tell, it's either a sign of the impending collapse of your entire psyche, or that mayo was a wee bit off." She frowned down at her empty plate. Even the goat hadn't touched the tuna salad. It had happily eaten the plate, though. "WAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!" agreed the goat. "But why is it... you?" "Well, Ah suppose your subconscious is an excellent judge of character, with impeccable taste!" She rolled her eyes, "so, why are you... manifesting?" "Probably to convey a message such that you won't miss it. Be very careful here, lass. Something about this whole mess stinks. And Ah dunna mean the pigs in 7D." Oh, so that's what that was, "what... should I do?" "Continue on as the big fellow said, play the part. But grow eyes in the back of yer head and dunna trust anyone." "Not... not even you?" "Especially not me." "But... if you are me, does that meant I cannot even trust myself?" "Well, Ah... Er... That is... Blast it, now you've gone and given me a bloody existential crisis, and that's a very serious things for an incorporeal manifestation. Ah'll have t' get back to you on that." "Wait, Chadvey... Chadvey!!" the chicken jumped, then started giving her the eye with its other eye. "WAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!" said the goat. Atendantes de cabina, por favor tomen sus asientos para aterrizaje. Y cuidado con los huevos. Valentina grunted, folding her arms as the plane dropped a wing and her view of the ground disappeared. She was getting very tired of wondering if now, she had finally gone mad. But... that did keep her mind occupied against... other things. Just look at it as another mission. She had a job to do, same as any other. She could put on a smile and look confident in front of news cameras, these people couldn't be that different. ...could they? The chicken seemed to disagree. "Oh, and one more thing." "GAH!" said Valentina. "BUH-GOK!" said the chicken. "WAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!" said the goat. "What—" the chicken eyed her back and forth, "what is it now? I thought you were busy having a crisis." "Well, Ah am, but as long as Ah'm getting all existential anyway, Ah'm supposed t' pass this on: ahem, 'luminous beings are we, not this crude matter. The product of mass and acceleration will be with you, always.'" "What..." she blinked. The chicken blinked. The goat stared. "What is that supposed to mean?" "He says, you'll know, when it's time." "He? Who he? There are more of you in there?? In... here?" Valentina put a hand to her face, "I really have gone mad this time, haven't I?" "He says you'll know that too. Also, bring a towel. A towel!? Now why in the bloody green blazes would she need..." "Chadvey? Chadvey??" but he was gone. They. Whatever. The chicken was staring so hard it nearly fell over the seatback. Valentina sighed and rubbed at her temples. The little airliner rolled level again, parallel with the nearby border. Luminous beings are we... Now why did that seem to make her feel better? Not thinking much of it, she glanced out the window, and what she saw there took her breath away. *** "buhGOKWAAAAAAAAAAAAHOINKOINKMOOOOOOOOBAAAAAAAAA!" Valentina waved feathers and fur out of her face as she finally made it to the door. Apparently livestock had deboarding priority. At the foot of the air stair, the chicken still glared at her. It raised two talons to its eyes before pointing them at her. "Buh. Gok!" then it scurried off. Rolling her eyes again, she took in the thick jungle air. It was amazingly refreshing after being crammed in that airplane for hours. By now, she had spent enough time near the equator that the weather no longer bothered here. There was even a nice breeze blowing in from the east, and— "Miss... Miss Valentina!" Frowning, Valentina started down the stairs toward the caller... then had to stop as a tank rattled and squeaked past. She recognized it. Older Ussari model. The turret shell was made from a single steel casting. This turret was scarred by a series of parallel, slightly jagged gouges. They almost looked like— "Ah, Miss Valentina, pleasure to meet you!" said a rotund, rather damp Kerbal dressed in expensive white fabric that had no place in the jungle. He paused wiping his bald head with a silken handkerchief just long enough to offer her a hand, "Reginald Montgomery Keswick Kerman the Third, at your service!" Her diplomatic skills were immediately tested as she struggled to maintain a smile with her hand squishing in his. About this time, a platoon of soldiers in full combat gear came marching past, chanting the most peculiar cadence as they did. "Esta es la historia..." "De una señora encantadora!" "Quien estaba criando a... "Tres niñas muy encantadoras!" "Todas ellas tenian cabellos de oro..." "Como su madre!" "La más joven lo..." "Tenia en rizos!" She watched them go, then realized the sweaty Kerbal was talking again. He had been too busy wiping his brow to notice her attention sway. "Bother this heat! I do beg your pardon, ma'am, welcome to the Democratic Plantain Republic of Andacamía. ¡Viva Filipe!" She blinked, "Felipe?" "No, no, it's ¡Felipe!," he said, mopping his brow, "do mind how you say it. They don't much care what else we do around here but they're rather particular about that. Or, more formally, Generalissimo Presidente Felipe Pablo Diego José Francisco de Paula Juan Nepomuceno María de los Remedios Cipriano de la Santísima Trinidad Ruiz y Arroz y Frijoles." He pointed across the concrete to a large mural on the side of a building; a grinning fellow looking very sure of himself behind his dark sunglasses, head dramatically cocked, in a white uniform with huge golden epaulettes on his shoulders, a wide-brimmed hat even wider than any Ussari cover, chomping on a thick cigar. The mural, above the enormous artillery piece. Looking around the sprawling complex, Valentina saw such murals were all over the place. Along with tanks, jeeps, howitzers... A row of sleek fighters laden with stores lined the runway, helicopters off to one side... All of them middle-aged but very capable-looking Ussari surplus. And then there was the gargantuan tracked... thing in the middle. She had no idea what it was. Some sort of transport, perhaps, bristling with repurposed tank turrets. She raised an eye... bulge at Reginald as he wiped his brow, "democratic, you say?" "Quite so, quite so," he wrung the overwhelmed scrap of cloth out, "Andacamia has a long and proud tradition of one Kerb, one vote. ¡Felipe! is the Kerb, and ¡Felipe! has the vote. He's won every election in a landslide for the past twenty or thirty years." Her eye... bulged a little higher. "You see, when one shares the world's longest border with the world's most unstable place, one learns a thing or two about stability for oneself. Officially, the national motto is '¡Viva Felipe!,' but unofficially it's 'si non confectus, non reficiat.'" Her other eye... bulge went up. "'If it ain't broke, don't fix it.'" "I see," Valentina said flatly, then gestured to the massive collection of military hardware surrounding them, "so all this is not to keep populace in line?" "Oh, heavens no!" Reginald drew the rag across his bald pate again, "the locals are actually quite fond of their benevolent dictator. The trains are always on time." "And what about that?!" she pointed to what she had seen from the air. It was a Wall. Not merely a wall, but most undoubtedly a Wall. It stretched to both horizons, which was quite easy to see, since the structure had to be at least a hundred meters high. The only thing taller was the jungle beyond. Reginald wiped his head, "that? That's not to keep the locals in. Or even to keep the Cerimans out. It's... well, it's for the local fauna, you see." Before the question could reach Valentina's lips, a subtle tremor rumbled through the ground. Then again. And again. In a nearby rain puddle, ripples danced back and forth. Then higher. And higher. Thunder seemed to rumble in the distance. "¡Ándale, muchachos!" someone cried out, and like a startled flock of birds, the entire base was instantly in motion. "¡Arriba, arriba!" "¡Avíspate!" "¡El podor de la chancla!" "¡Pilas, ojo!" "¡Te sueno la cara!" "¡Aguas!" "¡Tu madre siesta con mi perro!" Soldiers ran this way and that, darting behind cover or crewing weapons. Rifle bots slid home, tank turrets whined, cannon breeches clanged shut. Every barrel, muzzle, laser, and crosshairs turned on the Wall. The whole facility grew disquietingly... quiet. Then came the sound of splintering wood. Deep in the jungle, great clouds of screaming birds suddenly took to the sky. Trees, meters thick, whipped back and forth like mere blades of grass. And punctuating it all, THUD. THUD. THUD. THUD. The chaos ebbed, and for a moment, all was quiet again. Then Valentina clapped her hands to her ears against an aural onslaught beyond anything she'd heard before. Sound didn't do it justice, is was as if all the cells in her body were suddenly vibrating at every frequency in the spectrum at once. The assault seemed to slip past her clenched fingers, bore through her eardrums, wrap its talons around the base of her spine and wrench it back and forth like the treetops a moment ago. Then it happened again. And again. A pause came, or she'd gone completely deaf. Now the very ground seemed to be pulled out from under her feet. She stumbled, swayed, caught herself; and turned an awestruck eye to the Wall. BOOM! The concrete seemed to rise and fall in waves. BOOM! Dust was squeezed out of the joints between blocks, rising to the sky as if trying to escape itself. BOOM! The whole world teetered back and forth. A hideous crackling sound wafted over the base. A single chunk of cement came cascading down the Wall's canted face, exploding against the pavement in a cloud that belied its size. No one moved. No one breathed. Fingers hovered, quivering, over triggers. At length, the horrid sound returned; but more muted, now, and with the distinct timbre of a thing that had just, unexpectedly, encountered a material quite a bit harder than its own head. The trees snapped back and forth again as the thing crashed back off into the jungle, now nursing the world's biggest headache. "Todo claro!" And just like that, the sprawling facility was right back as it was, with marching troops and rattling tanks passing this way and that. "Esta es la historia..." "De un hombre se llama Brady!" Valentina grabbed a squishy handful of Reginald's shirt (and instantly regretted it), "what on Kerbin was that?!" He looked at her soberly, wiping his head, "the locals call it, 'el Grande Muerte.' Although I much prefer the Ceriman name, which roughly translates to, 'don't even bother running, you're already boned.'" She blinked, "wait, you speak Ceriman?" "Speak it? Oh, heavens no! I'd prefer not to get assaulted just enquiring after the loo. No one around here speaks Ceriman, it's against regulations. But I can understand it well enough," he grinned, and wiped his face. Feeling another headache coming on, Valentina rubbed at her temples, "I am sorry, who are you, again?" "Reginald Montgomery Keswick—" "Yes, yes," she waved a hand, "but how do you know me? Why do you know me?" "Hmm? Oh, bother this heat!" he mopped at his brow again, "terribly sorry, I am the corporate liaison from Layland-Wutani. The Company wanted me to escort you back to the Hole personally. Brilliant spot, I must say, faking your own death in such a fitting manner. I'm due to attend the funeral next week on the Company's behalf, I'm certain it will be spectacular. Not a dry eye in the house!" He beamed with a smile that was anything but dry. "The—?" Valentina's question was cut off as a Wilhelm scream drew her attention back toward the plane. She turned just in time to see a baggage handler arc gracefully through the air. "AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOHOOOOHOOOEY!" splat "estoy bien!" A smack filled the heavy jungle air as Valentina's hand met her face, "excuse me one moment please." She quickly located the source of the commotion, "Igor... it is not nice to throw people," she scolded, and then: "but your distance is improving." Igor scowled, but put down the terrified gate agent, who quickly found somewhere else to be. Returning to the round, sweaty Kerbal, she handled the introduction, "Mister, um, Kerman, this is my, er, associate, Igor." Reginald gaped up in the typical fashion, his dripping face forgotten for the moment, "my word..." It was a short moment. "Yes, well, I suppose the pilot shall have to make some adjustments to the weight and balance sheet," he mumbled as he wiped his gleaming head. "Is it long flight?" Valentina asked. "Typically around an hour, depending," he wrung his handkerchief out and continued, "bother this heat." "Depending on what?" "On whether or not we get shot down," wipe, wipe, wipe. Now it was Valentina's turn to gape in bewilderment. Igor rumbled disconcertingly. "It's Cerima beyond that Wall," he pointed, before returning to blotting, "even the friendlies are unfriendly. That's why we have that for moving the heftier stages." He nodded toward the huge armored thing she'd seen earlier, sending a few drops of sweat flying. Looking closer, she could see the scars and patches covering its metallic flank. "But, that's enough of that talk! Stiff upper lip and all that rot!" Reginald gave a bright, drippy... and just slightly forced smile, "shall we go meet the flight crew?" Across the concrete apron, there was, of course, a Converter waiting. Next to a pair of Ceriman gunships. And Reginald seemed to be sweating just a bit more. Special thanks to @vsully for the only foreign-language text in the story not horribly butchered. Any actual linguistic errors are entirely my own. And probably intentional. Maybe. I'm lying. Also:

The hints are there... scattered within the text Next chapter is about done, just needs some polish and a linguistic consult. Also, because my transcription can't possibly do it justice, this is relevant:

Now that right there is some serious tidal action!

Heh, I suspect the game would be running a bit faster if I hadn't just given the contract system on an existing save a complete existential crisis for which it's seeking therapy in the debug log.

Dang... That is really well done! Also, you crazy, and what's on the tip of the nose, and why isn't it red?

OHHHHHHHH....... Deck the halls with flaming debris! Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la AAAAHHH AAAAAAHHHH!

Today I installed @Galileo's planet pack to my dormant 1.2 save, in hopes of chaos ensuing. Nothing very chaotic happened, just wound up orbiting some strange places. So I went off for a couple of circumnavigations of Gael. And then this happened: Well, um, this is all just testing, anyway... Meanwhile, I'm nearly finished cooking something up for my, ahem, legions of adoring fans...

Is there an "official" Sigma config available somewhere? I can work on getting my ducks in a row until New Years, at least. Easier to roast them with rocket exhaust that way.

So, scanning over the thread... What's the current status with GPP and Sigma for a 6.4 rescale? Is there a new release in the works I should wait for?

Mods list plz

Heh, well I'll give you partial credit. This was actually an early working title for Whispers...

Also noted. Star Wars has ruined me. There's just no way I could write that scene without including that line. Hoping for this weekend. I'ma good 500 words in already, when I usually don't get anything down Tues & Wed. Maybe I can get back into more of a rhythm now. No one's gotten it yet. All points are off if I get to the Epilogue first.

Noted. New smiley. Might have been more obvious if I'd actually released the whole "Haunted Münbase thing" on Halloween instead of a couple weeks after. And, as always, thanks to @Ten Key

Chapter 90: Truth She sits on a cold, dirty floor, playing with Dolly. The floor is always dirty, no matter how much Mama sweeps. And always cold. She doesn't like Dolly, but there is nothing else here to play with. She misses the toy airplanes She had in the Big House, and the mobile of all the planets that hung over Her crib. But even those memories are fading away now, and will soon be oblivion. Mama and Papa are fighting again. They fight a lot, now. Nearly all the time. Once again, Mama is throwing their meager things into a worn, old trunk. "...get away to Kerbelsk. I have an old colleague there, he can get us passage on a ship to the East." "No, we must go north!" Papa's eyes are sunken and red. He never sleeps. He is always watching. Always listening. "There are rumors of an outright rebellion in Erakonia. They are holding the line. It is not too late!" "We cannot bring Her into a war zone!" Mama gestures without looking, "not based on stories! We have to get out!" "We stay off the roads, travel overland. If we can make it to the Tethys perhaps we can find a ship..." "Listen to you, you've gone mad! Do you even know what you're saying? In this weather?" "We cannot just give up!" Papa is raging. "There's nothing left to give up!" Mama slams the trunk, "it's over, we've lost. All we can do now is flee." "And become refugees?!" "What do you think we are now?" "No!" Papa screams, so loud it hurts Her ears, "I will not abandon my homeland! I will not abandon—" He points to Her, sees Her eyes, and in an instant, the rage is gone. There is no crying in this place, somehow She has sensed the futility of it, but Her eyes are wide and wet as she clings to Dolly with trembling hands. Papa drops to a knee and flings his arms wide, his features softened as his own eyes well up. She runs to him, tiny hands outstretched, Dolly forgotten on the floor. "Moya Zvyozdochka, prosti mi," he whispers as he pulls Her close. In his words is regret for far more than merely yelling. Mama approaches, and runs a hand through his greying hair. He wraps one tightly around her hips, presses his cheek to her. "It was not supposed to be like this," he says softly, like one in a dream, "it was supposed to be better. I thought we were... I thought..." His tears are warm on Her cheek. "Lyubov moya," Mama breathes, "we all did. But it is lost, now. For Her sake, we must leave." They hold each other in this dark, freezing place, and for just a few brief, perfect moments, She is happy. But in this place, such things can never last. The door slams open, bringing with it a cold blast and swirling snow. Deda is here, now, his eyes wide with fear. "They are here!" he cries, "they are searching house to house!" Papa bolts up, "out the back door. Quickly!" But Mama is already there, peeking through the window. She doesn't say a word, only shakes her head, her face pale. Screams and shouts carry in on the biting wind, and a popping sound like knots exploding in the fire. "Trapped..." Papa barely makes a sound. Conflict, anguish rampage across his face, and he grabs Deda by his worn old coat, "you must be the one to turn us in." Deda staggers as if struck, "Vladimir...!" "You must!" Papa pleads, "or they will take Her! And they will take you too!" The same struggle plays across the old Kerb's face, in a mirror of his son's, "hit me!" he says. "Papa...!" "You must! It must be real!" Deda sees his son hesitate, he turns to the wall and smashes his own face against the shelf there, opening a gash above his eye. He places a single hand to his son's cheek, for one last moment, before turning to the door. "Help! Help! They are in here! Come quickly!" Papa scoops Her into his arms and runs to the closet, "you must not open this door, do you understand? "No matter what you hear, you must not open this door!" "But Papa..." "No!" He slams the door shut, plunging Her into darkness. All at once, the noises come. Yelling. Cursing. Smashing. Shattering. Fear and panic fight to own Her. The darkness seems to close in, envelop Her. She can feel it, squeezing, searching. At last, at the sound of Mama's scream, She can bear it no more, and kicks the door open. With a nascent talent that will be honed over the years, her eyes take in the scene at once. Papa is gone. Mama is disappearing out the door. There are soldiers in their long coats, holding big sticks with little metal tubes at the ends and long, cruel spikes. And Deda cowers before the Big One, who has a thick mustache and gold braid on his shoulders. Something deep inside Her, long dormant, stirs, and everything goes red. Though She can barely reach it, She grabs the kitchen knife from the table. She charges forward, instinctively putting Her slight weight behind it, a wordless cry on Her lips. For an instant, just an instant, their eyes meet before She drives the knife into the Big One's knee until she feels it hit bone. He screams. A soldier shoves Her back. She lands hard. He raises the stick. Points it at Her. And Sound. Sound. ...the world becomes sound... Something hot kisses Her cheek. But— The Big One. He has knocked the stick away. "Oaf!" he rails at the soldier, "you would shoot a child?" The soldier gapes at him, his own mouth wide and fighting for words, "I—I—I—I..." he glances to the knife, "I will pull it out, Comrade Captain!" He reaches but the Big one shoves him away, "it's cut the artery, do you want me to bleed to death?!" The soldier backs away, shaking. His face has gone as white as the snow blowing in. "Argh, I think the tip broke off. I can feel it in the joint!" He grabs the soldier and pushes him out the door, "get the medic!" Deda wakes from his shock, scoops Her into his arms, shields Her with his body, "mercy, Comrade! Please! She is just scared!" Tears and blood wash Her cheek, but the fear has departed. She peers over the old Kerb's shoulder, meeting eyes that are more frigid than the cutting wind outside. Eyes that have never known warmth. She can feel them, cold, calculating, weighing. Yet She holds his gaze, the fire in her burning against the ice in him. Finally, he smiles. Bitter. Mirthless. But... also... "Of course she is," the Big One says softly, "of course." Deda turns, the smile evaporates, "she is your charge now, old Kerb. Take her far away from this place. It would be best for you both... if no one even knows you exist." Deda nods, backs away. For a moment, those warmthless eyes meet Hers again, "we... will be watching you." Another soldier enters, "medic, Comrade Captain?" "Ugh, help me to the truck. These two, put them on the next train going north, with papers. They are..." one last time, his eyes meet Hers, "of no concern." "DД, Comrade Captain! And what of the village?" "Burn it." "DД, Comrade Captain!" "You, move!" another soldier roughly leads them out into the cold. The wind scrapes against Her face, scouring the fire away. Suddenly, She is so tired. Soon, She is in the back of a truck, heading away, watching the bottoms of the clouds glow orange. "Shhh, Tinka," Deda says, hugging her against the cold, "we will do as we were told. Remember this night. Do not make noise. Do what you must to survive. And never, ever... take sides..." She feels numb. Like floating. Floating, drifting, rising... Rising... She is... She is... *** Back in the chair, in the Kommissar's office. Skin still burning, Valentina looked around groggily. He stood by the wall, staring at the knife again. Knees straight, hands folded behind his back, a fresh rattail dangling. "It is still there, between the bones. I feel it, with every step. Every movement." "You... this whole time, it was you!" In a single motion, she leapt from the chair, smashed the glass case, and pressed the knife up against his throat. "You took them away!" There was no surprise in his eyes, "do it. Do it! Strike me down. It would be fitting, no? It would be...just." "No!" she screamed, pushing the broken tip against his flesh, "you do not get to walk away, and claim a bad knee as your penance!" "Then do it! Have your vengeance." Her hands trembled. Little rivulets of blood ran down his neck. "Do it! There is money in the desk, and papers. You are already dead. You can disappear. Back into the woods, or across the globe. "Do it. And while you hide, the shadows grow stronger. They spread and search. They will come for you. They will come for everyone. "Do it!" he pressed his neck against the blade, "and spare me what is to come. You have seen. There is no escape. I cannot save the world. Only you can. "So do it, and be done," those frigid eyes grew wide now, burning into her, "or put away your anger, curse the Shadow, and embrace who you are." He leaned in, the knife dropping away listlessly, "put down the knife, take up the lash... and drive. The shadows. Out!" Valentina looked down, at the blood staining her own hands. ...blood on my hands... ...Billy-Bobrim... Donald... the Director... the Political Officer... Anna... Sergei... ...NO... ...drive... the shadows... out... I choose to go into the shadows, to seek them out, to find their limits. I ride the ragged edges of understanding. I fly into the dark places in the sky, the places others fear and fear well. I chase the shadows, harry them, scourge them. I drive them out, so that others will not have to know them. ...I drive them out... The knife dropped to her side, and she looked up, meeting that piercing gaze as she had years before. "Are you strong enough?" he raised his brow, "are you? If you do this, it will break you. You will not be able to trust yourself, what you see, what you hear. What you feel. You will not be able to trust any of the threads that have held you together in the past. Can you do this? "Are you strong enough?" She thought for a moment, then rammed the knife down into the heavy desk, burying it up to the hilt. "I.. am a test pilot." For the second time she had ever seen, the Kommissar smiled, "good. I will tell you more when you return. You must leave at once." Valentina nodded, "where am I going?" "To Cerima." Somewhere across the cosmos and deep in her psyche, a needle scratched across the vinyl record of reality. Once she had finished twitching and pawing at her ears, she said, "I am sorry, I do not know what came over me. I must have something in my ear. What did you say?" "You are going to Cerima." STACK OVERFLOW ERROR UNABLE TO READ FROM ADDRESS 00F90000 DIVIDE BY ZERO, DOES NOT COMPUTE VALENTINA.EXE HAS STOPPED WORKING ABORT, RETRY, FAIL? It was some time before her senses returned. She had to struggle to piece together a sentence. "Cerima? Why... why am I going to Cerima?" His expression as dark as ever, the Kommissar pressed a small envelope into her hand, "read this. Burn it. Swallow the ashes. A kar is waiting for you outside. "You are dismissed." Valentina staggered out into the strange little room, with the strange little clerk typing at the blank typewriter at the strange little desk, holding the strange little envelope before her. A thousand and one thoughts rode roughshod through her mind, but one threw a dust cloud much higher than the others. She hadn't told him... everything. She hadn't told him what she'd seen, beyond the visions, beyond the darkness, beyond the Beast. She hadn't told him... the truth.

Chapter 89: Lies Helga the Head Nurse had a thick, luxuriant mustache. So much so, that Valentina had felt compelled to compliment her on it. Midway through her own scream, Valentina realized that might not have been the wisest thing to do, as her shoulder was popped back into place. It was sore, now, but the large mustachioed Kerbelle was confident full use would soon return. Somehow, she seemed disappointed. It also turned out, Valentina hadn't been bleeding to death, after all. She'd hardly bled at all, really. It was just that sticky goo smeared all over her side. Waiting to meet up with the Zarya in Münar orbit, she had stripped out of the flimsy rescue suit and what remained of her water cooling garment, and spent an hour prying bits of broken glass from little pockets in her skin. That was unpleasant, but... considerably less so than the alternative. By the time she had docked and made the return burn to Kerbin, even the pockets seemed to have disappeared. One transmission was all she had been allowed. A single coded flash of bits, sent out after MechIVAN had computed her likely landing site in the middle of the Tethys Inland Sea. It was all that was needed. Minutes after splashing down, an unusual thing in a Zarya, a fishing trawler had appeared to pluck Valentina from the bobbing capsule. An explosive bundle was tossed back in. With a gentle nudge from the boat to submerge the open hatch, the blackened craft slipped beneath the waves, disappearing forever with only a muted thump and a ring of bubbles foaming on the surface. The crew bound her injured arm, gave her food and water and a warm, if noisy, berth near the engines, but never spoke to her or even looked directly at her. A few days later, as the boat motored along the shore just before dawn, one by one they jumped overboard carrying waterproof satchels, until only Valentina and the captain were left. He still said nothing, only pointed her to a landmark as he lowered her into a dinghy that was little more than an inflatable pool toy. She stood there on the shore for a long time, watching the rising sun and the thin trail of smoke before it, until that, too winked out. It was a short walk in the brisk morning air to the spot, where a nondescript kar was waiting. And now, she found herself back in the office of the Kommissar, sitting in a chair with her arm in a sling, giving a report that sounded ever more insane while he stood there impassively, staring at the broken-tipped knife on the shelf. "I could feel it in my head, in my mind, trying to get inside," her voice was taught and thin, stretched near to breaking, "and I could see things, horrible things..." The Kommissar didn't move. Valentina didn't think he'd moved at all since she began. He just stood there, hands folded behind his back, his knees ramrod straight. A smoldering rattail dangled from his fingers. He might have been made of iron. "I ran after that," she continued, studying the floor, "I wanted to do something. I wanted to fight back. But I just ran. I have never been so terrified. The shadows, I could swear they—" "The structure, what did it look like?" the Kommissar said abruptly, eyes never leaving that knife. "I, um.." she stumbled, "I did not get a good look at it. It was... wrong, it... it didn't want to be looked at." The Kommissar remained silent, so she pressed on, "the rover ran out of power when I reached the base again, I think I might have hit something. I had to—" "Did you touch it?" he broke in again. "The... what?" "The structure. Did you touch it?" "Touch it? No, I... I do not think so. It's all getting fuzzy now, like trying to remember a nightmare. I just wanted to leave there. I felt like I was going mad." "You say you felt it in your mind," the Kommissar didn't turn. He ran a finger along the edge of the glass case, "and you ran." In spite of herself, a tinge of irritation crept into Valentina's voice, "er... yes. It was like being... I wanted to get away, anywhere, I—" "Do not lie to me," a single eye flicked her direction. His voice was a knife in silk. Her head twitched, "I am not lying, it—" With speed that defied his size, the Kommissar spun around. He swooped up the chair, Valentina and all, and slammed it up against the wall to the sound of splitting wood. "Do not lie to me!" he roared. Valentina could only gape in shock. Holding the chair up against the wall with one hand, he gripped her chin with the other. Like so many time before, his frigid eyes bored into her. Deconstructing, dissecting, prying. Panic flared for an instant, as she recalled fetid, dank tendrils of shadow... But, no... this was entirely unlike that. Not prying, searching... Her memories, her feelings of that horrible time once more paraded across her mind's eye, but nothing moved to enter... only... to draw out. The intensity in the Kommissar's eyes faltered, then of all things, confusion crept in. His features softened. He released her chin and let the chair slide down with a thump. "You have seen," he whispered, more to himself, "and yet... there is no taint. No stain." Staggering backwards, he collapsed against his heavy wooden desk, eyes never leaving hers. He looked on her with the awe of one beholding divinity. "It is you," his head shook slowly back and forth, eyes still locked, "until this very moment... I did not believe, myself..." Valentina blinked in bewilderment, "have... have you gone quite mad?" then slapped a hand to her face as she realized what she'd just said and to whom. The chill returned as quickly as it left, and he was once again looming over her, "do not lie... to yourself." She... didn't quite have a response to that. The Kommissar turned back to his desk, studying the few items there, "you have felt it. Long before the Mün, you have felt it. Sensed it working in the dark places. Perhaps you have heard it whisper to you, tempting you. Placating you." He looked to her, "do you deny this?" A slight shake of her head was all she could manage. "You have stood before the infernal Shadowwell, looked into its phantasms, yet your mind is still your own. And your soul." He stepped up to her, and with a thick finger, lifted the titanium chain around her neck that held Dibella's Münstone and the sliver of Anastasia's münrock, "though I suspect you had help. Many, much greater than you, have broken long before." Something tried to form in Valentina's mind, some understanding of all this madness. It seemed almost within reach, but circled, just beyond comprehension. She forced voice from her lips, "the thing on the Mün. What is it?" "A shadow. There is no better word for it in any language you would know. The shadow of an entity not of this world or any other. It is the embodiment of chaos, destruction given will. It remains imprisoned somewhere near Jool, perhaps one of the moons. The Shadowwell is its beacon, to draw the unsuspecting like moths to a flame. Technology has now removed the final barrier to that cursed place. Anyone who stands before it will find their mind twisted and lost, and become one of the shadar'skemmd," his eyes flicked to her, "the shadowstained. Like your friend, Edmund Kerman. "Anyone," he leaned closer, "except you." With a thunk Valentina was sure could be heard outside her head, the final piece dropped into place. "You knew..." her eyes widened, "all this time... you knew. You knew what I would find up there. You did not need intelligence, the whole time it was nothing but—" "A test," he went back to staring at that odd little knife, "I needed to know it was really you. That you would not crumble like the others. And truth be told, I am... disappointed." That brought her train of thought to a screeching halt, "what? Why?" The Kommissar turned again, his look as icy as ever, "because... you will die." I am expendable... The thought had long wandered her mind, but to hear it aloud from another person settled an unpleasant lump in her gut. "The Songs are unusually clear on this," he said. "Songs?" she managed. "Since before the Deluge, the People sang of the rise of the Kraken. But with it also, the rise of Bane and Scourge. From among the People hope would arise, so that hope might not vanish from the world. Those songs are now silent, like the People. And yet, here you are." Valentina put a hand to her swimming head, "you... you really have gone mad!" She pointed to the nub of a rattail still clenched in his fingers, "its those things, they give you an abnormal brain." Squeezing her eyes shut, she waited for the world to stop spinning, "and you think I am this... hero?" The Kommissar only continued that frigid, weighing look. "You..." she groped for words, "you have made a mistake. I am no hero! I found your thing on the Mün, and I was terrified! I ran!" "Of course you did," a trace of anger edged into his voice, "you are not a fool." Her mouth flopped open and closed for several moments before she jumped out of her seat, "I-I-I-I am just a peasant girl from Kerberia! I grew up in a shack! I fly airplanes and space capsules! Andandandand... the whole world has gone mad! And! And! And..! STДLIЙS SШЗДTУ SФCКS ФЙ PЦTIЙS ЬДLD PДTЭ!!!!!" Incredibly, her eyes remained steady, if slightly trembling, before that unmovable glower. "You have your mother's fire," he said after a time, "and your father's mouth." That mouth then flopped open for a moment. Eventually, speech returned, "you... you knew them? You know something... of course, you know something! You must tell me!" She grabbed the lapels of his uniform coat, seeming to have lost all fear, "please, you must tell me!" Then she collapsed back to the chair, rubbing at her temples again. "Have you really no memory of them?" Not looking up, she just shook her head. The Kommissar gripped her chin, gently this time, and again stared down into her with that piercing gaze. "You have," he said at length, "you have merely forgotten. I will help you. You are, I think, owed that much." He turned to a box on his desk. Valentina rose, a question forming on her lips. "Sit." And plopped back down. The Kommissar pulled the other chair over, and sat across from her. In his hand was some sort of short, ragged, brownish tube. He lit it from the stub of his rattail, before snubbing that out. A thin trail of grey smoke rose from the tube, and the air filled with a faint odor of cinnamon. The Kommissar watched it intently, muttering something rhythmic under his breath. "What is that?" Valentina asked with apprehension. "A leaf. A refugee to this world, from a time when it was yet young, and the People already old. "What... does it do?" "Nothing. It gives your senses something to occupy them, so that your mind may move freely." "How—" she never finished the question. The Kommissar raised the smoldering tube to his lips, and blew through it, sending a dense cloud of smoke into Valentina's face. As he had said, her senses were instantly very occupied. Immediately, her eyes teared up and swelled shut. Her lungs heaved, her skin burned. The subtle scent of cinnamon became an overwhelming, desiccating fire, as if she'd tried to swallow a spoonful. She could just hear the Kommissar's mumbles become subvocal chants before her ears began ringing, drowning everything else out. Then the burning on her skin became tingling, which quickly passed to numbness. It felt like she was floating... falling... rising... She was... she...

Ussari society in a nutshell, right here. I tried to do a Halloween tie-in and look how well that turned out. So, 89 is written and off to editing (with NO temporal expectations!) Think I'll end up splitting it in two. 91, then, will be a bit of a "breather" chapter after all this darkness. At least until I... Paint It, Black on a side note... anybody here speak Spanish? At least better than Google?

I can assure y'all things are still moving along slow but sure behind the scenes. @Ten Key you're only half right, cuz I've only sent you half the chapter. I keep picturing you in some unholy mashup of National Lampoon's and the first part of Home Alone so please, circle all you need. On the upside, the longer I need to come up with A chapter increases the likelihood of a bunch of chapters all at once.

What...? How...? Huh?!?

No, it was not. The only similarity between the two is that they involved the helium tank. What actually failed is completely different. I still don't see how it's possible to be 100% sure of that first failure when all of your physical evidence is at the bottom of the ocean.