CatastrophicFailure

Given Boeing’s growing list of software issues, that’s more and more likely...

I dunno, man, I seriously want to see that great Kerbal monstrosity fly for real.

My bet is that SpaceX will deliver that to the surface too. ..,and the fully-fueled transfer stage...

Makes a certain amount of sense. Figure flaps, thrust structure, and various well-understood internals have been designed as far as they can be at this point— they need real testing to progress further and aren’t “unknowns” as much. It’s the main tank structure that’s the current frustration and they’re on the verge of solving that, so once they actually do, everything could go together real quick. Partly because... This is how they already build regular ship ships (and shipping ships for shipping shipping ships), and its done for the same reasons. Much easier to work on large chunks and then weld them all together, making huge ships seem to come together very quickly. Sections like this are almost fully assembled, plumbing, wiring, etc.

Today, the new tractor delivered. More precisely, my wife’s new tractor. Aaaaand before it even got here the delivery driver got stuck backing down our muddy driveway... ...reason #42 why we need a tractor... So, the very first thing I got to do today was dig the chains out and use my ginormous lil’ old SUV to drag a 46,000lb flatbed out of the mud. Gearing FTW. But finally, it’s here! Brand new Kubota B2301 with loader, grapple and box blade. Time to get my farmer on and start ripping out blackberries with extreme prejudice. Eventually. Had to get to work after all that and haven’t even sat on the thing yet. Model 3 in the back all like

How is this not already a thing? This should be a thing. And in a similar vein... words aren’t quite right but... ...because... reasons. which mostly involve me never having to mow the lawn again. Ever.

I’ma go out on a limb here and say maybe shooting darts at alien probes passing through our system might send them the wrong impression... ...or maybe the right one...

I swear that thing actually took off, can we count this a launch?

I’m not so sure about the “popped,” they installed it in a fairly finished-looking nosecone and added an outlet too, maybe this is flight hardware off to be proofed (but not to destruction)?

Whew! I'm still here! OK, special thanks goes out to @KSK who read this 11,500-word monster not just once but thrice apparently. The next installment shouldn't be nearly so novella-ish, and is a solid thousand words in so far.

It may indeed be:

More of the Trunk That Would Not Die:

Each launch pad has its own TEL, can’t really move them between without a ridiculous amount of work. Staff to operate those TELs and other systems tho... Also, great video from Scott Manley here. Apparently the second stage really did survive the breakup, hit the water around Mach 1, and there are pictures of the shockwave. ...they shoulda put a chute on it...

They should include it in the payload of the first orbital Starship launch.

Someone upthread mentioned the rocket looking “bent,” I think what happened is the joint between the first and second stages partially failed, and the upper first stage tank (LOX?) began venting. The “bent” bit is the intact second stage still hanging on, which survives the first stage explosion and is seen emerging from the fireball. Was there ever any concrete word on whether it broke up itself or the FTS fired? Like someone else said, that sure looked like an FTS event...

His dwelling is darkness, and his craft is Shadow, From Eternal Twilight he sets the fate of kings and emperors. With his hands he lifts the Dread Icon, the god-breaker, And crushes our hopes to dust. Chapter 42: The Heist [...For it is only together, undivided, that we may truly build a better world. Thank you, my friends, and good night...] “Wow,” Dibella stared up at the wall, here eyes damp and dreamy, “such a gifted speaker.” Burdous grunted, “pfft. Two-faced blowhard.” Edgas gazed at the screen with a thoughtful look and a little smile. And Valentina... just muttered something under her breath that was fowl even for her. “Wait,” Burdous leaned in, “do what with a rooster? And I totally missed the thing about the sardines...” She shook her head and waved him away. “Bah, enough of that nonsense,” Roland waved the screen away. “Nonsense, indeed!” Dibella raised both hands and rubbed at her temples, “I just do not understand, Ussari and Omork, squaring off like unruly kerblets in a playground! Grigori and I never agreed on anything, but he is the last person in the world to be seeking nuclear weapons technology. He always wanted to reduce the arsenal, eliminate it, even! ‘What could we ever want with a even dozen nuclear bombs?’ he would say, ‘that’s a dozen years of clean energy right when we need it so dearly!’ And the Omorkians, I do not know this new Prime Minister of theirs, but I know the Minister of Defense very well, I was at her sons’ graduation! She would never overreact like this to such a minor diplomatic spat...” “People are getting scared,” Roland said, “and not without reason.” “Maybe they are these... what did you call them?” Dibella eyed Valentina, “Shadowstained?” “No,” Valentina shook her head, “the Shadowstained are all gone. It left when Edmund was... died. He was the... hive-mind..?” She shrugged. Dibella frowned, “well you don’t sound very sure, how do you even know?” “One of them told me after I was in his... mind, or something,” Valentina frowned back, “I made it go away.” “You... wot..?” She turned to find Roland staring at her in awe. “I do not know,” she shrugged again, “he tried to, whatever it is, infect me... looked deep in my eyes... but, I went... backwards... into his. It was like old, crumbling house. The Kraken was there. I sent it away.” Roland continued to gawk at her, and not even the Empress could hide the shock from her ageless face. At length, she turned to him, “is such a thing even possible? For her?” “Well,” Roland took to stroking his beard again, “there’s nothing that says one must be Chelyaad, and if what that fool says is true,” he nodded to a scowling Burdous, “then she may indeed have the Spark. Although... everything ever written about the subject could fit on a single page, maybe two.” “And you... drove the Shadow of the Kraken out?” he leaned toward Valentina, “just like that?” She nodded. “How??” “I...” another shrug, “just told it to go.” “Just... like that..?” Her eyes dipped, “well, there may have been some grabbing of the throat and threat of grave out-of-bodily harm involved, it was all rather spur of the moment, very confusing being in someone else’s mind...” Roland sat back in his chair and grinned widely at her, “remarkable.” “You were not in his mind,” then the Empress intoned, the stoic self returning, “you were in his soul.” Now it was Valentina’s turn to gawk, “I... what?” “What you describe has not been done in over a thousand years, not since before the Fall of Arstotzka, and then only by the most powerful and disciplined of Chelyaad after a lifetime of study. It is called... well, the word roughly translates to Soul Diving. To say that it was otherwise forbidden is perhaps a stretch, as so few were ever born with the Talent, let alone learned to use it.” “Why would it be forbidden?” Valentina frowned. “Because it is extremely dangerous,” the Empress fixed her with an icy gaze, “for both parties. If you are distracted or unsure, if you lose yourself for even a moment, you can become trapped in a creation of the other’s psyche... or whatever else is controlling it. You would spend your existence as no more than a figment of someone’s imagination, a tiny, fleeting voice in their mind, while to you it would seem as real as this table here, all while your body atrophies and decays but never quite dies. Meanwhile, if you touch the wrong thread of another’s essence, you could leave them brain-damaged, emotionally scarred, or sever their own link to reality such they are left a raving lunatic... and all the while, you are still trapped in there with them.” She leaned back, “as I have said before, there are worse fates than death.” “Oh.” Valentina said softy, reaching for her glass. Her mouth suddenly felt as dry as desert sand. “Well, all the while,” Roland waved a claw-like hand, “it is absolutely remarkable that she was able to drive the Shadow out without any of those, er, complications—“ he leaned to her, “he... was alright after, yes? No... brain damage?” She blinked at him, an old memory drifting across her mind. ...but if you can't trust a creepy random stranger in a trenchcoat you met in the bathroom of a seedy pub, then who can ya trust, right? “Er... at least no more than before.” “There now, you see—“ Roland spun back to her, “wait, what?” “Nevermind.” He raised a quizzical eye... bulge at her, but in the end just shook his head, “at any rate, time waits for no kerb, and we’ve much to do. Is everybody clear on their roles for the night?” “Yes,” Valentina said, brushing an errant bit of mangled silverware from a stained blueprint spread on the table, “due to current... circumstances, the museum has been closed to the public for days, and the staff evacuated. This leaves only a skeleton crew of guards. Two here,” she pointed at the print, “in the security room monitoring cameras. Four more on patrol outside, maybe another half-dozen inside. But first, we make our way by kar to this point, just outside the gate...” “That’s the telco utility box,” Burdous continued in a bored tone, digging at something unpleasant under his fingernail, “they’ve powered off the satellite links and disconnected the ISP fiber line, essentially air-gapping the place, so it can’t be accessed from outside. Smart. So, I’ll have to hack in from there and disable the hyper-advanced nigh-impenetrable gigabit-encrypted security system,” he yawned, “piece of cake.” Roland frowned at him, “that sort of arrogance is going to get you into trouble one day.” “Eh,” Burdous kept digging at his nail. “Moving on,” Edgas squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed at the wide, flat spot between them as he spoke, “then we go around the exterior perimeter and disable the four patrolling guards—“ he spared an eye for Roland, “without harming them, before moving inside and picking them off one by one.” He drove the heels of his hands into his eyes for another moment, rubbed them, blinked, and finally pointed to the print, “the scepter is being kept here, in the Grand Hall. We crack the display case, commit a little grand larceny of government property,” he winced, “then head back to the kar and split.” “After reactivating the security system with a timer to trip the alarm once we’re clear,” Burdous added. Dibella sighed, “and I shall remain here to... tend to Her Majesty.” At that, Roland and the Empress shared a brief glance. Not a word was said, but the room somehow seemed to grow several degrees colder. “Yes, well,” he began, rising, “we shall need to be vigilant. Once we’ve left the manor grounds and the safety of the Ward I’ve set, we’ll be vulnerable. Whoever chased you here is likely to figure out what happened sooner or later and come looking, so we must be swift. A couple of hours’ drive to the museum, in and out in twenty minutes, then back here as quick as we can muster. Once the Staff is secure, we’ll continue trying to track down the Crown and the Stone.” “Indeed,” the Empress’s tone was as blank as her face, “I shall continue my research here in the library,” her eyes flicked to Valentina, “and consider these new developments as well.” Roland turned to her, bowing stiffly, “by your leave, Majesty.” She nodded, and he turned away, “now then, spit-spot! Much to do. We’ll take the Rolls.” With a gasp, Burdous’s entire face lit up in unfathomable joy, his hands pressed together and voice close to breaking, “the Rolls!” *** “The Rolls.” “Yes. What were you expecting, the Rolls Kroyce?” Roland grumbled past, “I wouldn’t let you near Her Majesty’s kar even if you’d had a bath this year.” “I had a bath last night!” Burdous snapped. “Doesn’t smell like it,” Roland sniffed, “and I don’t even have a nose. Besides, we’re trying to keep a low profile, here.” Burdous gaped at the listing heap before him, where rust and faded yellow paint both seemed to be vying to hold it together, “I don’t think this is going to do that! I feel like I need a tetanus shot just from looking at it.” “Quite so.” Poke. “Ow!” “And you.” Poke. “Ack!” “You too.” Poke. “Ouch!” “Now then,” he tucked the syringe away, “I trust you’ve all had a recent rabies booster as we’re fresh out. If not, you may want to avoid the possums in the glove box.” Three pairs of eyes blinked at each other. “I don’t think that’s... entirely safe...” Edgas offered. “Pish-posh, you try evicting them if you’d like, that’s been their ancestral home for generations,” Roland said, “and you don’t even want to know what’s in the boot.” Right on cue, what was in the trunk thumped against the bootlid twice, leaving large dents. It gurgled disagreeably. Burdous only stared at this a moment before proclaiming, “shotgun!” and leaping into the passenger’s seat through the absent window. Roland grasped the driver’s side handle and pulled, the door opening with an infernal screeching like a million condemned souls, before settling behind the wheel as the kar settled lower to the left. Edgas and Valentina looked at each other, but could only sigh. He grabbed his door handle and pulled... just to have it pop off in his hand. The flood of spiders, earwigs, crickets, and assorted other crawly things that emerged en-masse from it led to a most undignified bout of high-pitched screaming and dancing around, but they were understandably quite traumatized by the whole thing. Edgas stood there for a long time staring at the empty, pitted, rusted-to-paper thin bit of metal, as if unsure of what to do. Finally, Valentina pushed the door open from the inside with another hellish squeal, and he took his place on something that was more a bundle of rusty springs with a few rotting bits of foam still doggedly clinging to them than an actual seat. The thing in the trunk hissed laughter. Or possibly just hissed. “Quiet, you,” she slammed a hand on the rear deck, which cracked, but the thing quieted with a dejected whine. Up front, Roland pulled the choke knob, drawing a vague gagging noise from somewhere under the hood. Then he primed the fuel pump, switched on the battery (POW! Bzzzt...), adjusted the mixture, set the spark timing, locked the throttle, checked the blinker fluid, spun the muffler bearing, half-cocked the hammer, flubbed the powder, tamped it down, primed the pan, set the blasting cap, fully cocked the hammer, sent up a small burnt offering to whatever unfortunate minor deity was tasked with the Sisyphean labor of ensuring this particular rat-infested bucket of bolts actually turned over (much to the chagrin of said rats, and finally, pulled the trigger. Ker-BLAM! What followed was a cacophony of truly epic proportions as billowing clouds of oily black smoke and a despondent but unsurprised family of field mice were ejected from the tailpipe. It was indeed a veritable maelstrom of dissonance sure to strike fear deep into the heart of anyone who knew anything at all about combustion engines, metallurgy, basic chemistry, sick beats, or possibly the summoning of unspeakable horrors from the deepest bowels of the Ninth Hell itself. While some motors might spark to life with a throaty roar, or a satisfying rumble, or perhaps a highly-tuned and legally trademarked “potato-potato-potato” sound, the noise expectorating from this particular rusty yellow hood could almost be heard as— Just-kill-me-now-just-kill-me-now-just-kill-me-now... Somewhere under that vast expanse of flaking yellow paint and rusty hood, sixteen reluctant cylinders circled around in a sequence that could possibly be described as, ‘two churning, two burning, two choking, two smoking, two on fire and two more unaccounted for.*’ Exactly which was doing what at any given moment was likely to change often and at random. *Any similarity to certain real or fictional aircraft has been vehemently denied by the manufacturer. “There, now,” Roland said finally, with an air of satisfaction, “if everyone is ready—“ “Why am I so itchy all of a sudden?” Edgas blurted out, shifting around in his seat and scratching frantically. “Yes, is...” Valentina squirmed too, “is not very stealthy.” “Oh, terribly sorry! I should have passed these out before we got in,” Roland handed them small, circular objects. Edgas gawked at it, “a flea collar?!” “Indeed,” Roland shrugged, “I would suggest a very hot bath once we return and a good dip.” Edgas raised a hand to his face. And scratched it. “Wait, why are you not itching?” Valentina asked Burdous as she slipped the collar on her wrist, “in fact, why is there growing halo of dead bugs around you?” Burdous just shrugged. “Now, if you don’t mind, we do have a schedule,” Roland wrestled the gearshift sticking out of the floor around, sending forth an eruption of spine-jarring, eye-watering grinding noises. As it lurched forward, an exodus of all manner of crawly, furry, skittering things raced away like rats from a sinking ship... including the aforementioned rats themselves. “Hey, quit poking me!” Edgas suddenly blurted out. “I am not poking you.” Valentina shot back. “Hey, she’s poking me!” “Am not poking you! “Are too!” “Are not!” “Are too!” Now it was Burdous’s turn to groan and raise a hand to his face, “yup, they’re siblings, alright.” “Cut it out!” “These are both hands!” Valentina held up said hands. “Then what...” Edgas again shuffled around to find an appendage sticking out from between the alleged back seat cushions. It somehow managed to be hairy, scaly, and slimy all at once. “GAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!” Valentina slammed her hand on the deck again, “do not make me come back there!” The thing in the trunk whined in acquiescence. Roland joined Burdous in groaning into his palm, “it’s going to be a long night.” The kar backfired in agreement. *** Somewhere, in an idyllic, verdant landscape beneath a brilliant sun, birds chirp and bees buzz happily amongst gossamer flowers. Woodland creatures scamper back and forth in the gentle breeze, while near the peak of one steep, wooded hill, a tiny, ever-stalwart machine chugs toward the crest to the cheerful tone of... I-think-I-can-I-think-I-can-I-think-I-can... Wherever this halcyon somewhere is, it is not, unfortunately here. Here, an icy wind cuts across through arching trees not yet bare of their leaves below heavy clouds, shrouding all in darkness despite the bloated Mün above. Patches of frozen-over snow dot the empty spaces between them, glowing pale in the meager light, ice rimes the rocks of a now-dry stream, and inching up a ragged, pot-holed road towards the crest comes a sad conglomeration of metal and corrosion, one headlight out, belching thick black smoke, and wheezing as it goes: Oh-flarp-this-crap-oh-flarp-this-crap-oh-flarp-this-crap... Shuddering as if against the cold, a series of loud bangs and crunches escape into the night wind, ending in one final explosion of smoke, gears, and a last stubborn mouse from the tailpipe, as it nearly creaks to a halt... then slowly, ever so slowly, begins squealing its way down the far side of the hill. “Is it going to do that every single time?” Valentina shot from the back seat, “roll down one hill but can hardly get up the next?” “Why do you think it’s called a Rolls Kanardly?” Burdous shot back, tossing a nut to the possum in the glove box. It hissed laughter. “But...” she protested, “you said it has airplane engine...” “Probably a good thing for that airplane,” he shrugged. The kar backfired in agreement. And something went ping off across the roadway. He finished with a sigh, “Omorkian engineering. This is why we have Kleptogarti cars and Krünish airplanes.” “Hmph,” Valentina crossed her arms, “big, silly Kleptogarti kars, rusty airplane Omorkian cars, big, expansive car drive itself! Why cannot have normal Ussari kars, like Klada?” The Rolls went silent. Roland looked at Burdous. Burdous looked at Roland. Then Roland laughed, Burdous laughed, the kar laughed, good times. Meanwhile in the back, Valentina’s scowl deepened. Then, her eyes drifted to Edgas, who was huddled in his corner, turning a small, sparkly rock over in his fingers and staring very intently at nothing. Nudging him, she asked softly, "hey. What is eating you?" He pointed. "You stop that right now!" she smacked the decklid a few times, "is not nice to eat people!" The thing in the trunk retreated. "You are lucky that thing does not seem to have teeth," her hand moved to his shoulder, "what is on your mind?" "Hm?" Edgas started, as if just realizing she was there, "I don't know, I've just got a bad feeling..." “Yes, well,” Roland reached for the dash, “perhaps there’s something on the radio...” Click. ...confirmed reports today of an increasing number of Ussari Air Force Kupolev-95 bombers orbiting just off the west coast of Omork, as tensions between the two nations over the disputed Strait of Kerfrica rise to unprecedented levels. A spokeskerb for the Ussari Foreign Ministry has stressed that these are unarmed patrol aircraft, in place to monitor the movements of the ever-more-active Royal Navy, and as such will adhere to an additional five kilometer buffer beyond the 20 kilometer line defining Omorkian territorial waters. Potentially compounding matters further, the Gednalnan VTOL carrier HRGMS Rosslynn is reported to have set sail from Edinkurgh this morning, and is steaming eastward at high speed. Officials with the Royal Gednalnan Navy have thus far declined to comment, however— Click. “On second thought,” he said, “perhaps that’s not such a good idea.” “Oh, I know!” Burdous popped up, “singing always makes a road trip go faster! Hey have you heard this one? “Ooooooooooooooooooohhhhhhhh... ten thousand bottles of non-alcoholic-carbonated-malt-based-space-beverage-in-a-bag on the wall, ten thousand bottles of non-alcoholic-carbonated-malt-based-space-beverage-in-a-bag! If one of those bottles should happen to fall, ninety-nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine bottles of non-alcoholic-carbonated-malt-based-space-beverage-in-a-bag on the wall! Ninety-nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine bottles of...” Roland slowly lowered his head to the wheel, thumping it a few times, and letting out a low groan, “it’s going to be a long night...” *** On a dark deserted highway, cold wind in my hair, Warm smell of leaked coolant, rising up through the air, Can’t see ahead in the distance, just got this one headlight, My nut bag’s empty but this possum’s slim, And we might break down tonight. A long... very long... painfully, ear-splittingly long time later, the kar squealed and rattled and ground to a halt. “Will you please shut up! Those aren’t even the right words,” now Roland slapped his own face, trying to coax some feeling back into it, then added, “but you’ve a lovely singing voice.” Burdous leaned back with a wistful sigh, “Derpy Kerman, famous singer. Lolli Kerman, famous singer. But what do I get? Famous for falling off a ladder on 15 different worlds. And believe me, that hurts on Eve!” “Quite so. Here,” Roland passed out little bundles of black cloth. Edgas picked through it and scowled, “ski masks? Really? Isn’t that a bit cliché?” “Can’t have three famous faces trundling about during a major burglary,” Roland eyed Valentina, “especially one who’s supposed to be dead.” “Gah! Ugh! PHHHHHHAWWWWWWWGH, this is horrible!” squealed Burdous as he yanked the thing off his face, “blech, it smells like an old gym sock! And there’s no holes...” “Oh. Terribly sorry, here...” “Gaaah! This one’s even worse!” “Oh... that must be the other of the pair. Here...” Burdous took it quite cautiously, inspecting for the necessary holes first before slipping it on, eyeing Roland the whole time. To fit said holes, the latter also passed around sets of night vision goggles, and slipped on a rather large rucksack before donning his own mask... which did not, at all, cover his beard, "now then, from here on we must be cautious, we may even already be on camera. Stealth is of the utmost importance, keep your voices low and your motions deliberate. Let’s be off.” The door squeaked and groaned like the death throes of some fell beast as he pushed it open. One hubcap popped off and went rolling into the bushes. Once more, a hand found Roland’s face, “it’s going to be a long night. Come on.” They had only moved a short distance away when— “Gaaah! Where’s the kar??” Burdous was gawking at the little nook in the undergrowth where he was sure the car had been a moment ago. “Um... it was parked right... there...” Edgas pointed at nothing. “The Mask of Mirrors,” grunted Roland, “it’s still there, I’ve just hidden it. It should be quite alright so long as no one—“ Clunk. “D’ouch, my shin!” “...blunders into it.” “Aaaaaah! Hisssss...” Burdous rocked back and forth on the ground, both hands pressed to his leg, “Aaaaaah! Hisssss... Aaaaaah! Hisssss... Aaaaaah! Hisssss...“ Roland glared down at him, “are you quite f—“ “Aaaaaah! Hisssss... Aaaaaah! Hisssss... Aaaaaah! Hisssss...“ “It’s going to a very long night,” he mumbled into his hand, “well, then, the rest of us will be moving along. Now, as I said, stealth is of the utmost importance. The utility box is just a short walk, watch your footing and voices low.” The group set off, doing as Roland said. They moved at a crouch, carefully winding through the night-still forest, each footfall silent. Like shadows given form, they crept forward, ever wary, inching toward— Bum bum, bum-bum, bum bum, bum-bum, bum bum, bum-bum, bum bum, bum-bum, BA-NANA....ba-nana... ba-nana... ba-na! “Will you kindly shut up!?!” Roland spun around. “Shhhhhhh...” Burdous shushed him, “we’re supposed to be keeping quiet.” For a time, Roland could only stand there with his mouth flopping open and closed like a fish. A quiet fish. Finally, he groaned into his hand again, “I should have turned him into a newt when I had the chance.” The four set off through the brush once more, silent as the grave save for... Bum bum, bum-bum, bum bum, bum-bum... “It’s going to be a long night...” And a long night it was, trudging through the understory, everything lit in eerie green through the view of the goggles. Occasionally the Mün would peek out from the low clouds above, flaring the unsettling scene brighter for just a moment. After a time one of these flares did not diminish, and the group realized it was the glow of the Imperial History Museum’s lights reflecting on the clouds above. “Ah, here we are,” Roland whispered, as they entered a clearing off a service trail, surrounding an unremarkable utility box sticking out of the ground. Roland again produced his little figurine, waved a hand, and the stout padlock simply fell away. He motioned to Burdous, “you’re up,” who wasted no time swinging the cover open and plugging in a dizzying array of tablets and keyboards to its innards. “I’m in,” he breathed as he tapped away. “Good,” Roland turned to the others, “now, stay sharp, and be wary. We’re exposed, and must buy him time to—“ “Done.” He spun around, “WOT?!” Burdous shrugged as he packed his things, “I told you, piece of cake.” “Just... just like that??” “Yup. I disabled the security system, rerouted the landlines, backfed a boring video loop from last night into the pipe so the hacks in the guard shack won’t see us, and left myself a backdoor in case I ever need to get back in. I also upgraded Portals, refreshed their virus definitions, ran a full system scan, removed an impressive amount of malware, installed an ad-blocker, optimized their wifi settings, defragged their hard drives, emptied the recycle bin, organized their desktops, and since there will no doubt be a thorough investigation when this is all over, I deleted everyone’s browser history.” He thumped a fist across his chest, “because that’s what bros do.” For a long time, as they stood there in the chilling, green-tinged darkness, Roland could only stare, his mouth hanging open. Valentina reached over and closed it for him, “I am finding more and more is best to not be surprised at these things and just accept and move on. Madness lies down that path.” Her voice drifted off, “wonderful, peaceful, floaty madness... But come, we should go.” “Yes,” Roland kept blinking for a time, “indeed we should.” They moved on through the brush in more or less the opposite way, turning here or there. The cold night air seemed to press in all around, squeeze them like deep water. Nothing moved in this towering, ancient forest, even in the eerie glow of the goggles there was not a critter or bat to be seen. Only the occasional blinding pale of the Mün between clouds. At length they came to a place where the more lowly glow grew much brighter. Roland motioned them down, and placed a hand on the branch just ahead, “alright, funny business is over. This is the edge of the perimeter, the museum promenade is just the other side of this clearing. Now, we must deal with flesh and blood.” Roland pulled the branch down just slightly, revealing a guard walking his patrol. He was clad all in black, from his knit cap to his jackboots, and had an even blacker rifle pressed to his shoulder, held low. His eyes flicked their direction, his step slowing a bare fraction. “Um...” Burdous shrank back, “maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. I’ll just... gowaitbackatthekarbye—“ Roland seized him by his mask, quite silently, and pulled him back, “nonsense. We must disable all four sentries at once, before they can raise an alarm. Synchronize watches on my mark... three... two... one... mark. Your tools,” he swung his rucksack around and held it open, “everybody take one.” A hand shot to Edgas’s mouth, barely stifling a gasp. “That’s barbaric!” he huffed in a whisper, “I won’t do it!” “The effects will wear off in a few days,” Roland shrugged. “It’s inkerman!” Edgas shot back, “it’s inkermane!” “Well, I suppose I could just kill them,” Roland produced the little figurine again, “I do know a rather handy knitting for stopping one’s heart, the agonized thrashing only lasts a moment.” He rose. Edgas grunted and pulled him back down, “fine.” “Good. Now then,” Roland eyed them all in turn, “very simple, pull the pin, count to three, and throw. They have an effective radius of about two meters, but any delay might give your charge time to cry out. So aim is crucial, go for the head. And whatever you do, don’t drop it.” Once more he proffered the bag around, each of the other three taking an object, Edgas with a glare so sharp not even night-vision goggles could hide it. “To your positions. Keep low, stay to the woods, dance with the shadows,” Roland said, “we move in five.” *** Mylar Kerman walked along, his black, padded boots making no sound on the polished marble promenade. His eyes twitched this way and that, scanning for anything of note, gloved thumb tucked just above the safety lever of his Kerlashnikov. And, for the umpteenth time tonight, wondered why. With everything else going on, what were the Politsiya doing guarding an old museum? Surely the some Ministry private security contractors would be more appropriate. If there was such concern, why not simply remove any valuables to a truly secure location? The building wasn’t anything special, there were plenty of old Imperial-era manors around the country. He let out a barely-audible half-sigh, half-grunt. Maybe he should go join the army. They were paying big enlistment bonuses these days, after all, and his skills would be much more appreciated. Maybe even get the chance to teach those Omorkian pig-dogs some respect. Imagine the nerve of those people! Blockading kermanitarian shipments in international waters over some made-up pretext! If they wanted a war, then just maybe— In an instant, Mylar dropped to one knee, target dot floating before his eye, rifle butt held tight to his shoulder. He scanned back and forth along the manicured treeline, his sharp eyes trimmed to laser clarity. The tiny red dot before his eye settled on one spot in the woods, growing into focus over his target. Breath came steady and measured to his ears. His thumb flicked the safety off. His finger found the trigger. And then... he stopped. He knelt, frozen in place like a statue. Then slowly, ever so slowly, unfolded himself upward, one joint at a time, at last flicking the safety back on and lowering his weapon. His eyes kept scanning back and forth across the woods as his frown deepened. For... just a moment... he could swear he saw dark, shadowy figures moving in the underbrush before the Mün retreated back behind a cloud. His earpiece crackled, “Watchdog 3, Homeplate... report in.” Mylar did not move his eyes from the trees. “Watchdog 3, report!” Finally he turned, touching a finger to his jaw, “Watchdog 3, all clear.” He gave a tired sigh to the night, and continued along, sparing once last glance beyond the clearing. And then, a RatSquirrelFish hit him in the face. Unfortunately but quite understandably, then he tried to scream, and compounded his misery. A moment later, Edgas crawled up onto the landing, stripping off his mask. He crept past the squirming, twitching mass on the floor, lips pulled back from his teeth in a tight, all-to-knowing wince. “Sorry,” he breathed, then padded off. *** Four Kerbals scuttled together from different directions, dressed all in black, clumping together just below a wide, multi-paned window. Roland nodded, pointed, made a series of noiseless hand gestures directing their next actions. Burdous made a doggy and a ducky in the shadows on the wall. “I should have turned him into a newt when I had the chance,” Roland grumbled into his hand. “This is cruel and unusual!” Edgas hissed at him. “They’ll be perfectly fine in a few days,” Roland hissed back. “They’re gonna... catch a disease or something!” Edgas tried to throw up his hands without moving much. “Oh, no, it’s quite safe,” Roland waved it away, “these are sterile medical-grade RatSquirrelFish,” he eyed Valentina, “from a certain place in Cerima.” Her eyes shot up, “but... Tercella said there were no weaponized...” “Tercella did not know everything,” he shook his head, “it would have been... much better if she had. Just... stay here.” He slid further down the window a couple of meters, carefully raising his head just enough to peer in. Then dropped and spun, back pressed to the wall, cane in one hand and RatSquirrelFishGrenade in the other. His eyes looked out into the darkness of the woods beyond, his body frozen, as if waiting. All at once he sprang into motion: broke a pane of glass with his cane, pulled the pin with his teeth and hurled the grenade over his shoulder. A muffled, “wha—? Gurk!” wafted from inside. With no further pause, he readied a second grenade, pulled the pin, waited, tossed. “What in the Nine Bloody—GAK!” Roland motioned the ‘all clear.’ Burdous offered a bunny. Roland buried his face in his hands. “Just... come on,” he led them to massive oaken main doors. With a wave of his hand, something inside the lock went clunk, and he pushed the door open. The crew quickly tiptoed their way past the two struggling forms on the floor, Edgas again pausing to offer a guilty, “sorry...” Across the gran fo-yay, they came to another enormous set of doors, this one unlocked. Again, Roland led them in. “Whoooooah.” None other than Ivan Grozny barred their path. “Holey mother of...” eyes kept drifting ever skyward. Roland stepped before him, going down to one knee, and thumped his cane upon the polished floor, “choshih Ivan, dada an’ mi dadan, dada an’ Ussaros, Tai’shar Ussaros hei, Koyn al Tyakual e Ma’vron an Clomacour’n,” then finished with a gesture on his forehead. Ivan, First of His Name, glared down, looming over them like a mountain, perhaps a dozen meters high. Not marble or bronze, he was hewn from solid granite, his outstretched hands gripping an ornate scepter and battle-axe as tall as he, with deep blue eyes cold as ice and sharp as daggers. “Whoah, that is creeeeee-eeeepy,” Burdous muttered and he scuttled this way and that, “see how the eyes seem to follow you wherever you go? Some first-class artistry right there.” “No, they’re actually following you,” Roland said as he rose. “Um, what?” “This statue itself is a grail,” he explained, “though we’ve never been able to ascertain what it’s for. It was crafted by Ivan II, the first Chelyaad Emperor, and a frighteningly powerful one at that.” Roland stepped forward and laid a hand on the haft of an axe that was thicker than he, “it is said that after stabbing his brother in the back and slaying the queen and young heirs, Ivan Grozny, his hair set alight, leapt from the parapet of the wall into the horde of barbarians besieging Kernobyl, and with this axe slaughtered ten thousand of them by himself, thus single-handedly saving his kingdom and people from a fate... worse than death.” “That sounds a bit far fetched,” Edgas crossed his arms over his chest. “Perhaps,” Roland turned toward a side door, but paused to glance back, “but stranger things have happened.” The group slinked away, and Ivan watched them go. *** “Gak!” Thud. Edgas winced just as hard as they slunk past yet another gagging, struggling guard, “sorry...” Roland led them through the Imperial Gallery— “guk!” the Blue Room— “hurgh!” the Grand Armory— “urk!” the Hall of Cutlery— “You put that spoon right back!” “c’mon, they’ve got plenty!” and finally, into the Grand Hall. Whatever this room has once been, it was now done up as a reasonable facsimile of a throne room, with a high raised dais at one end supporting said throne. The walls were hung with all manner of official Imperial portraits, chronicling a dynasty of a thousand years. Stern faces looked down upon the group, all with the same eerie eyes that seemed to follow them as they moved, and each one holding in their left hand the same massive jeweled scepter, and in their right a gleaming golden orb. Yet the four remained focused only on the center of the expansive room, the objective they had come all this way for. Here, there was a huge cubic display case, the bottom half made of polished wood covered in ornate carvings, the top glazed with thick-looking sheets of glass surrounded by heavy iron bands. Within, was no mere king’s ransom, but a dragon’s hoard of sparkling gold, gleaming jewels, ceremonial weapons and Imperial regalia nothing short of priceless. And there, shining in the center of it all... Burdous immediately trundled forward, arms outstretched, his face cast in a dreamy smile, “ooooooooooooh, sparkly—GAK!” “Back, you clouted, idle-headed barnacle!” Roland retrieved him with the pommel of his cane, “do you have any idea how many people have tried to steal the Imperial Crown Jewels over the last millennium?” “Well, actually, now that you mention it, I—“ “Three thousand seven hundred and twenty one,” Roland cut him off, “now, do you have any idea why none of these were noted in the historical record?” Burdous opened his mouth. Burdous closed his mouth. “Because there wasn’t enough left of any of them to even fill a dustpan, and the comings and goings of the Imperial Housekeeper are certainly not a matter of historical record. This first part is easy enough,” Roland took his little figurine in one hand, and waved the other over the massive lock securing the iron bands, and it simply unlatched and fell away. “Next, one of you will have to open the case. Just touching it would surely kill me.” “What?!” Edgas gawked at him, “you just said it vaporizes people!” “Only if they’ve come to steal it,” Roland said defensively. “And what are we here to do?!” Edgas shot back. “Well, yes,” Roland waved a claw-like hand at him, “but for the greater good, not petty avarice. Intent matters. It should be perfectly safe for one not Chelyaad.” He nodded to Burdous, “here, you try it.” Burdous’s eyes shot wide, “me?!” “Well, you are the most likely to be...” Roland shrugged, “expendable.” Burdous glared at him a moment, then grunted, “fine!” and stepped up to the box. Slowly, ever so slowly, he reached a hand out to the glass that was not glass... Tap. Nothing happened. Tap-tap. Still nothing. Tap-tap-tap. Burdous casually leaned up against it, “there, y’see? Nothing to worry about, it’s perfectly f—AAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUGH!” Edgas screamed. Valentina screamed. A couple of paintings screamed. And then everyone realized that Burdous himself had gone from screaming to laughing hysterically. “Hahahahahaha! Oh, that was priceless!” he howled, half bent-over, “that was rich! Hohohoho! Oh, you guys shoulda seen the looks on your faces,” he leaned back up against the case, “you were all like— “GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!” This time, there was no doubting his veracity, due to the warm actinic blue embrace of crackling electric arcs enveloping him from the four corners of the box. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRGH!” The noise and intensity swelled, blue going to white and then eye-watering octarine. The smell of ozone and burning hair filled the massive room. “AaaAaAaAAaAAaAAAaaAAA@@AiIIiiIIiiIIIeEeEEEeeEEeEeEE-HaaAAaAaAAaAaAAHh!” The light grew brighter still, the crackling surged to thrumming and then buzzing so deep it was more felt than heard. Every hair in the room stood on end, and at the center of that blazing globe of whiteness, no matter if one squeezed their eyes closed against it or not, there was clearly visible a stocky black skeleton. And also a cell phone, kar keys, two knives, three forks, and a really nice serving spoon. Just as suddenly as it began, the electric light show ceased, and Burdous Kerman hung there a moment, the fringes of his hair glowing red and smoldering, before collapsing. “Burdous!” Valentina charged over to him, pulling him up, “are you all right?!” He coughed out a cloud of acrid grey smoke at her, hacking and wheezing. “That was the most painful thing I’ve ever experienced in my entire life,” he croaked, before jumping up at the case and squealing, “AGAIN!!” Roland put a considering hand to his chin, “well, now... it always worked better when we had an official state function and an expendable page boy. Perhaps you should...” he eyed Valentina. “Am bit busy right now,” she growled back, still trying to contain Burdous. Finally she shoved him away, and approached the case herself. She half reached a hand out, brow pinched, then shook her head. “No, not me,” she turned to Edgas, “you.” Her eyes dropped away as if deep in thought, “of course it is you...” “Me?!” his eyes shot up for a moment, but he quickly sighed, and walked to the case. One hand shielding his face, he reached out a single cautious finger... and just touched the glass... It rippled out in waves like a stone thrown into a pond, each set larger than the last, until a hole began to grow from the middle. It quickly spread until one entire side had disappeared, and the final iron lockworks swung open. “Whoah...” he breathed. Edgas again stepped forward, looking on the gleaming, jewel-encrusted scepter that towered over him on its stand. He glanced at Roland, received a nod, and gently began to lift... And of course, being Edgas, the scepter immediately slipped free and tumbled toward the floor. He was quick, however, and snatched it up just before it smashed against the marble. As he lifted it in his hands, the lights in the room seemed to flicker and dim, casting dancing shadows across his face. The still, solemn space waxed utterly silent, and the very air grew chill around them. Even the paintings seemed to draw back as Edgas held the Scepter up. “Wow...” he whispered, “that’s heavy...” “Indeed,” Roland intoned as he approached, his own eyes wide and fixed, “heavy is the head that wears the crown...” “Eh, it’s not that bad,” quipped Burdous, “could use a little padding on the brow though.” They turned to find him wearing not only the Imperial Crown but decked out in all manner of gold and jewels and finery. “You put that back where it came from this instant or so help me—!” “Okay, okay, sheesh,” he began unceremoniously stripping things off, “I was just trying it...” Roland’s eyes grew wide, “ALL of it.” Burdous rolled his. He thumped a fist against his chest. Thumped it again. BURP. Tinkle-tinkle-tink-tink-tink. Roland’s expression didn’t change. Burp. Tinkle-tinkle-tink. He raised an eye... bulge. Urp. Tink-tink. Once again, he raised a tired hand to his face, “I really am getting too old for this nonsense.” Beside him, Edgas was still hefting the scepter, “this is really heavy...” Now it was Valentina’s turn to let out an annoyed grunt and roll her eyes, as she took the gleaming object from him, “you really need to get to gym more often, you know?” She swung it back and forth a few times one-handed, for emphasis. At this, the light seemed to return, although the fixtures kept flickering just slightly. “Hmm,” Roland eyed them, “we have what we came for, best we not dawdle,” and led them from the room. *** Valentina padded along beside him, clutching the scepter. It really did seem quite heavy, must be at least ten kilos if it was gram. Could the whole thing really be solid gold? Even she knew such ceremonial items usually weren’t— The group rounded a corner and froze. Burdous’s hands shot to his mouth, muffling an unpleasant gurgle deep in his throat. Before them lay one of the disabled guards. Only... there was something else there, too. A round, bug-like helmet black as night rose to reveal flesh that was more scars than skin. Twitching, half-torn lips pulled back from teeth filed to interlocking points like a shark’s mouth. Dripping and smeared, it drew open, exposing a ragged stump of a tongue deep within that quivered as it hissed. It fixed them with an feral, eyeless gaze. The thing leapt up and charged, screeching as it came, reaching out with hands curled into claws, sharpened finger bones jutting out from ragged gloves. Valentina took two quick steps, scepter in hand, wound up like a professional blurnsball player, then swung for the nosebleed seats and knocked it clear through the wall. Roland gawked at the point where it had exited reality, “my... my word...” Valentina frowned down at the golden scepter. Much of the fine filigreeing and airy detail work had been bent and smashed, and several large gems were missing. Yet, it almost felt like— “What... just what the flarp was that?!” Eyes swung to the unusually crass word from Edgas. “Valar Arctûctis,” Valentina answered, not looking up. “What?” “Children... Child of the <gulp> Kraken,” Burdous said, hand still pressed to his mouth, distinctly trying not to look at the scene still before them, “Ceriman mercenaries. But, what’s he doing here? And-and-and <gag> why would he—?” he turned aside, his face decidedly green... er. “They’re far worse than that, I’m afraid,” Roland then tilted his head as if listening. In the suddenly still air, a low, guttural hissing seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere at once, “and the more... degenerated ones have been known to resort to cannibalism, if they’re not fed regularly.” He shook his head, “we’ve been compromised, we have to go. Quickly, now! I’ll take the lead,” and nodded to Valentina, “you watch our backs.” They set off from the room, the awful sound seeming to follow at an unknown distance. Valentina kept a tight grip on the haft of the scepter, so much that it seemed to be thrumming in her hands. They passed another of the guards they had disabled, this one— no, she couldn’t even look on him, let her eyes slip off as they wound past. Through the Green Hall, the Red Hall, and back through the Hall of Cutlery, they were halfway across the vast Grand Armory when a voice called out to them across the rows of plate and maille. “That’s fah enough.” They turned, as the soft click of leather on marble echoed from the hall ahead. A lone figure appeared in the entryway, what first seemed to be a shadow given depth resolving into... a kerb in black. Black, nearly without contrast or variation. From the tall boots cobbled together from the dyed hides of a dozen unfortunate reptiles, to slacks cut just-so of dark fabric with no shine or sheen, to the suit jacket devoid of pinstripes or patterns, trimmed with onyx buttons, even the shirt was black as night in deepest winter, beneath a wide-brimmed hat with no discernible line between it and the shadow it cast. Pale hands rested on the butts of twin oxide-blacked revolvers with grips of worn ebony. The figure stepped forward, an homage to back, or perhaps a caricature, yet it served to make the mirthless, lopsided, too-white smile gleaming from the shadow beneath the hat all the more unsettling. Valentina took her own step, tightened her grip on the scepter. With a single thumb, the figure reached up, and pushed back the brim of its hat. Valentina felt her hands suddenly grow weak. “No... is impossible...” she breathed, “you are dead, I saw you die!” She winced as the figure giggled, a sound like a young girl at a tea party or a boy at play, yet somehow tainted and twisted around on itself. The sound bit into her ears like thousands of insects. “Well now, y’see,” the figure spoke with a deep Exast drawl, “that woulda been mah twin brotha’ John Ross Kerman,” he tipped his black hat, and made a little bow, “Bobby Kerman, at yuh service.” The lopsided, wrong smile widened. It never came near his icy blue eyes. “Back. Back, quickly,” Roland hissed. “Aw, now y’all can try y’all’s luck that way, if yuh want,” again the horrid giggle, “the Children are hungry, see, Ah ain’t fed ‘em in a while.” As if in answer, the raspy, distant hissing that seemed to come from everywhere coalesced at the hall they’d just left. The kerb in black giggled again, then it became throaty, ear-straining laugh. He took something from his coat pocket, unwrapped it from a stained, sodden rag, and threw it to the marble before them. It landed with a wet thump. The smile grew until it seemed to split his face, “Katya Kermanov sends huh regards, likewise.” The scepter nearly slipped from Valentina’s hands as she spun to catch Edgas. “You son of a—!” she struggled to hold him back against fury flowing and amplifying through her own mind that threatened to send her to rage. He nearly broke free, if Roland had not found his other arm. Laughter that seemed both seed and fruit of madness washed over them from shadow given form across the hall, “disappointing, really. Ah had so been lookin’ fo-wahd to a challenge, but she broke right away. Tol’ me to everthin’ Ah wanted to know.” Edgas struggled against the two with new wrath, “she didn’t know anything!” The kerb in black laughed as he if he’d just heard the funniest joke in the world, “Ah know!” “Do not be troubled,” Roland shifted Edgas firmly into Valentina’s grasp, placing himself between them and the newcomer. He fished the little figurine from his pocket, “I shall dispense with this ruffian and then— guh!” He stumbled, nearly toppled forward, clinging to his cane to remain upright. More laughter roared from across the room, “they tell me it’s... unpleasant, when one of you people is cut off like that,” the kerb pulled some sort of medallion from beneath his shirt, shaped like the face of a dog, or perhaps a fox. He tucked it away again. As he continued to speak, he began to casually unbutton and slip off his suit jacket, “see here now, y'all have somethin' Ah want, but more important, mah employer has business with you lot. Seems y’all been causin’ some trouble,” he hung it upon the outstretched arm of a nearby suit of armor, “and just bein’ all unreasonable-like,” he unpinned his cufflinks and hid them away, rolled his black sleeves to his elbows, “cain’t have that, see. But first, there is anotha’ matter...” Taking a basket-hilted saber from a display, which bore a blade that looked like porcelain, he swung it back and forth a few times with the air of one who knew how, then swept it back across another suit of armor. It sliced through without even a sound, until the top half tumbled to the floor. The kerb in black held the blade forth, pointing directly at Roland, “you killed mah brother.” Now his entire countenance shifted, the wrong smile evaporating like a nightmare, but into something far, far worse. His lips pulled back into a snarl, his teeth grit together with such force that his face twisted into something savage and monstrous, “only Ah git to do that.” The snarl deepened, “Ah want a piece a’ you.” “A piece you shall have,” Roland’s eyes narrowed. He stood tall, his back creaking and crackling, but only for a moment. He took his gnarled old cane in both hands, twisted, and with a click the top grip separated. From the other section it drew forth what looked like a pale, limp string, but with a flick of his wrist it grew straight, becoming a long, impossibly thin needle-like blade that almost seemed to be glowing. Claw-hand tucked behind his back, he held the sword before his face in salute, “on guard.” The two stepped forward, eyes locked upon one another. The kerb in black shifted this way and that, as if trying to circle. Each time found his path blocked. Each time, his face twisted into new and more unpleasant masks. He feigned a quick attack, and Roland merely stepped aside. Another sudden, half-pulled lunge, yet Roland was simply not there when the blade passed through. Roland, for his part, was replete with all the calm and serenity of the Empress herself, his face as blank and unreadable as a statue. The real attack came with all the speed and ferocity the kerb in black’s probes had lacked. He roared as he charged, taking his saber in both hands, a devastating sideways slice that tore the air as it passed. Roland parried, his own gossamer blade holding the other frozen in place for a fraction of a moment before deflecting it away. He dodged the return, spun into a counter-attack of Kingfisher Circles the Pond, found his own attack deflected. He led the dance from the first clumsy thrusts into practiced Forms, from The Rose Unfolds into Arc of the Mün; slipped into Low Wind Rising, spun The Cyclone Rages into Doves Take Flight. His opponent’s Forms were... coarse. Yet no less effective, driven by anger and hate and perhaps drawing from those in strength what they lacked in grace. The Falcon Stoops, parry and step into Rain in High Wind, a dash against River of Light becoming Cat Dances on the Wall. Valentina, of course, knew none of this. She watched in horror as the two kerbs wrenched back and forth, gleaming white blades swishing through the air. The sound was maddening, like the clink of ceramic plates bashing together, only without the shattering that her mind insisted must follow such a noise. Anything they touched that was not each other— a steel shield, a wooden beam, evan a marble column in the center of the room— the swords passed through with seemingly no effort, leaving a trail of destruction behind the combatants. The kerb in black grunted and strained with each blow, veins standing out on his sweat-streaked forehead, yet Roland’s face betrayed nothing. He might have been reading the Münday paper over a nice cup of tea or perhaps going for an evening stroll. It was as if all the feeling he must be feeling was channeled away into some all-consuming Flame. Valentina wished she could do the same. Beside her, her hand on his shoulder, Edgas was a crumpled heap on the floor. She could feel the raw emotion radiating off him like fever-heat. Grief. Horror. Despair. Guilt. And wrath, flowing into her like magma beneath a volcano, feeding and fanning her own rage bubbling just beneath the surface. Yet as she watched the two spin and clash, it became plain she would not have to contain herself for long. Even to her untrained eye, one of them was losing. This black-clad kerb, this Beast... he was clearly outmatched, his motions slowing, his moves becoming more erratic and clumsy. Her own conscious mind still struggled to comprehend all she was perceiving, her conflicting senses battling back and forth for attention like the two kerbs before her, yet her hyper-conscious mind, that still, small part of her that never slept, never rested, honed to a razor’s edge by years surviving in the harsh taiga was not so burdened. Instinct far sharper than any never-dulling blade kept watching, noting, rapidly rushing toward its own, unconscious, conclusion. The Wind Shakes the Trees ebbed into Tower of Morning. The kerb in black stumbled and barely blocked Leviathan’s Rising, Two Hares Leaping countered Hummingbird Kisses the Honeyrose. “I do not aim with my hand,” Roland murmured, his face a mask, his eyes burning with intensity, “he who aims with his hand has forgotten the face of his father. I aim with my eye.” The kerb in black growled back at him. Oak Shakes its Branches into Striking the Spark. “I do not dance with my feet,” another sectioned suit of armor clattered to the floor, Cutting the Clouds met Leopard’s Caress, “he who dances with his feet has forgotten the face of his father. I dance with my mind.” Half a helmet went skittering across the marble floor. The kerb in black faltered, withdrew, spat rage against Flower of Stars as his back met the wall. “I do not kill with my blade...” Mün on the Water and Reaping the Barley. “He who kills with his blade has forgotten the face of his father...” Ivory-like swords clashed high and caught a bare moment. “I kill with my—“ “Guh!” A sword clattered to the floor. “Ugh...” Roland doubled over, the darkened point of a common hunting knife jutting from his back. The kerb in black’s face erupted into a twisted grin of triumph, one hand holding his blade aloft, the other twisting the knife deeper. “NO!” Valentina’s conscious mind was only dimly aware of charging forward, of someone screaming, perhaps even her. The world seemed to red-shift into hues of crimson and ochre. That distant, always aware part of her had made the inevitable connection a fraction too late, and in shock and horror and rage she reached out across the abyss in near-panic to whatever she could find. What she found... was only darkness. The other still, small whisper always at the edge of perception, that had goaded her from a frantic aerial chase over a sprawling forest, to a spaceship of old friends turned enemies on the edge of forever, to the reflection of the Mün upon a pond in a burned-out crater a lifetime ago... and beyond. She reached out, in a flash of mindless weakness, and embraced it. A power foreign and somehow familiar flooded back, burned away the fear and confusion, and ground the razor’s edge sharper still. She swept up Roland’s fallen sword and set upon the kerb in black like a maelstrom. She did not know the Forms, had never danced the Dance, but what she did have was long years of simply staying alive in a world of things which sought to end her, not out of petty hate but simple hunger. She did not know the Way of the Blade, but was an old master in the Way of the Pointy Stick, and in the end, a sword was not so different. She came with such ferocity that the kerb in black was immediately staggered backwards, the victory wiped from his face and replaced by fear. Alabaster blades clinked together, here and there even drawing showers of sparks. Yet that was not her Way, and she fought with all she had, she fought dirty, with fists and feet and even her teeth. The kerb in black let loose a high, reedy scream and shoved her back, one hand pressed to the other. Her eyes still locked on his, she turned aside and spat out a lump of flesh. Fury burst again, and now he attacked, his motions ever more untempered. She parried, dodged, shrunk in upon her already smaller self before him. Then in an an instant, rose like Leviathan from the abyss, every muscle in her body driving her frame, and her fist, upward. It connected with his chin and she felt teeth shatter and bone crack. The kerb in black took one unsteady step away and went sprawling onto his back, his saber skittering away from his outstretched hand. Valentina fell upon him, a wordless cry tearing from her lungs... and drove Roland’s needle-like sword through his wrist and into the marble floor. But the move left her off-balance, and the kerb was able to gather himself and kick her back with both feet. Click-BLAM! Click-BLAM! Bullets whizzed past her head from his black revolver. Each shot was wild and unaimed, yet forced her to retreat. Click-BLAM! Click-BLAM! A shrill, ear-piercing shriek erupted from him, so grating and reedy and wrong that it bored into Valentina’s skull and made her vision quiver. The kerb in black wrenched his pinned arm back and forth, each motion driving his wailing to new levels until at last it tore free, leaving the sword embedded in the stone floor. Click-BLAM! Click-BLAM! He withdrew to the hallway, his other arm clutched to his chest, hand dangling from a few errant scraps of flesh, and disappeared. She moved to pursue him— “Val!” She turned back to Burdous. “We need you!” She hurried over to where he and Edgas knelt with Roland in a growing puddle of blood. She cautiously peeled back the ski masks they had pressed to his middle, but could only shake her head, here eyes growing wide. “It’s alright, do not grieve for such as I,” he said, barely above a whisper, “you have what you came for, you must go.” Edgas didn’t seem to hear, “we have to get him to a hospital!” “Fool’s errand. I don’t matter. None of this,” he raised a trembling hand, “matters.” “What?!” Burdous cried out, “nonononononono you-you can’t die! Do... do that thing you did for me!” “I can’t.” “What? Why?!” “I can’t Heal myself.” “Why not?” “As I told you,” he huffed and gasped, “there are rules.” Roland produced the small jade figurine of the fat little kerb, and stared down at himself intently. He winced, grunted, and a tiny tendril of smoke rose up from beneath the sodden ski masks, bringing with it the smell of burning meat, “that will... buy time...” His hand shot up and seized Burdous by the collar with unexpected strength, “you! You beslubbering, paunchy, idle-headed onion-eyed rump-fed poppinjay! Her Majesty’s taken a liking to you, against my council. You have to look after her now. She is not as strong as she thinks she is... and more powerful than she could ever imagine.” He released him, and took one of Valentina’s blood-slicked hands in his own, somehow managing a little bow, “my Lady Kermanova. Your name is well-earned, for you are... dauntless. You’d have made a formidable Ashmanni.” The claw-hand reached up to his collar with a practiced motion, then with it, he pressed something into Valentina’s palm, “so by my authority, I grant you a new name: Tai'Shar Arstotzka. Now, you are the last.” Finally, he turned to Edgas, his voice drawing down to barely a whisper, “and you... remember what I’ve told you... remember... who you are,” his hand wrapped around Edgas’s clenched fist, “all our hopes go with you.” Again he clung to the little figurine, and concentrated... Valentina felt nothing, but the great murmuring hiss beyond the far hallway shifted up in pitch... and abruptly silenced. “That should... clear you a path,” Roland’s voice drew ever weaker, “I’ll create a distraction, and see that you’re not followed. Now go, you have what you came for.” For a painful moment, no one moved or said anything. Edgas looked down at the golden scepter, now in his hands, “we... we can’t just... leave—“ “You must... no time...” “But...” “Go, you have what you came for.” Still, no one moved. “Go, then!” Roland snapped, “there are other worlds than these.” Valentina forced herself to her feet, “is right, we must go.” She grabbed Edgas, who grabbed Burdous. She herded them out the hallway, and did not look back. *** Roland watched them go. He took a long breath, shoveled pain and nausea and fear into the Flame until it was so distant as to belong to someone else, and tightened his good hand around the jade grail. Through it he channeled Air, barely a breath, not even a whisper, and set it spinning in the center of the room... *** The Rolls Kanardly sputtered and shuddered through the ink-black night, its one headlight casting a weak beam just bright enough to turn Valentina’s stomach as it bounced around on the roadway beyond. “Can’t this thing go any faster?!” Edgas cried out from the passenger seat. The possum hissed at him defensively. Valentina kept her watering eyes on the road, and her foot on the floor, “have everything wide open but toolbox now!” “I’m working on that!” pleaded Burdous, fighting over the toolbox with the trunk-thing. His eyes grew wide as he glanced out the back window, “um, guys... we’ve got company!” Blue lights flashed in the distance. *** Roland held the Weave still, wound it around on itself again and again, squeezing it down. Now he drew Fire, funneling it into the little whisp of Air, as much as he could. He spun it faster, the vision before him spreading out into a swirling disc as he fed it more. With each long breath, each pulse, body motionless save for his eyes, he crushed the flows down again and again. At length the point in the center began to glow, fist dull red then yellow into white. He could feel the pressure pushing back against his will. And, despite all that was and is and was still to come, his lips cracked into a little smile. Here, at last, was the fulfillment of Ages, the New Magic together with the Old, the science of the mystical, the alchemy of creation. A beginning, and an end. He let the little figurine fall from his fingers. He gasped as the Power flooded into him, tried to scour him away and all that he was. He seized it even tighter, forced it to his will. Now that the Conduit was open, he no longer needed the grail, and for the first time in his very long life, touched the Source as it truly was, pure and untainted. The beauty and ecstasy of it threatened to wash him and all that he was away, but he held fast. Without the grail and its protective buffer, he was no longer limited, and drew every bit of the Power he could. The... dangers no longer mattered. He could feel it coursing through him, burning at every nerve ending in his body, washing over his brain like flames. And every bit, he Channeled into the tiny maelstrom before him, making it hotter, squeezing it tighter. The glowing center became a blazing light he could barely look upon. Tapestries and paintings on the walls began to singe and smoke. Yet still Roland drew more, drank of the Power until his entire body burned like fire. He crushed down the little ball of light, smaller and smaller, smashing it toward a singularity. He drew of the Power, became the Power, and reached beyond it, to the Light itself. “Adieu, adieu...” his lips moved without breath, “parting is such... sweet sorrow...” He let go. *** Police klaxons blared all around the fleeing wreck as it plowed ahead, moving to surround it. One sleek electric cruiser pulled alongside, the shotgun-rider pointing something out the window at them. “Pull it over, now! Or we will use force!” its loudspeakers blared. Valentina cut the wheel hard and swerved at it, forcing it to back down, but the act sent their own kar skittering and fishtailing back and forth across the road, sending a hubcap, two chipmunks, and a very angry badger tumbling off into the undergrowth. “Am out of ideas!” she cried, still sliding over the road only half-controlled. Burdous made a couple of rude gestures out the back window, “this is all I’ve got! “Is not helping!” Edgas was curled up in his seat, once more turning the sparkly little rock, now stained with blood, over in his hands. His glazed-over eyes stared at nothing. All at once they grew wide, and his head shot up, “stop the kar!” Valentina spun around “wha—?” “STOP THE KAR!!” She mashed her feet down on the pedals as hard as she could, bringing the Rolls to a skidding, screeching, shuddering halt. Which took a very long time. The Politsiya had no such trouble. In an instant they were out. “Hands!” “Lemme see some hands!” “Hands, NOW!” “Get down!” Edgas screamed, “shut your eyes!” He didn’t wait to see if anyone did. He ducked in his seat and squeezed his eyes as tight as he could, yet still the back of his eyelids bloomed into a crimson glow. It lasted only an instant, but what followed was a hurricane gale that slammed against the kar shattering all the glass, flipping it around and threatening for one stomach-churning moment to roll it over. Just as quickly as it came, it ebbed, and the kar slammed back onto all four wheels as the suspension and a family of woodchucks groaned in protest. An eerie, empty silence followed. The stillness was broken only by the soft tinkle of little pebbles of glass as the three Kerbals sat up and beheld their surroundings. “Um...” someone said, “I think we should go now...” “Yes,” Valentina agreed weakly, “go.” She persuaded the still-idling kar back into gear, and disappeared into the night. A short time later, several dazed and bewildered Politsiya officers came blundering out of the woods, hands outstretched before them as bizarre after images danced across their vision. One of them managed to find his cruiser and pick up the radio. “One Ivan twelve, one Ivan twelve, requesting backup, over?” Nothing. He keyed the mic a few times, punched some buttons, tapped in confusion at the large black screen in the center of the dash. His partner crumpled into the other seat, and as one they turned and looked out the broken window behind them... ...where, cast in silhouette by the fat gibbous Mün through the hole it had punched in the overcast, a tiny mushroom cloud rose. *** A very long time later, as the ink of night at last began to give way to indigos and violets, the Rolls Kanardly sputtered to a stop before the manor house with one final blast of smoke. It quivered just a moment more before collapsing into a pile of rust, faded yellow paint, and assorted unhappy woodland creatures, all of which went scurrying off into the dawn. This left three equally bewildered Kerbals and a golden scepter sitting on the drive. They slowly mounted the stairs, weariness seeping deeper into their bones with each step. “Guys, how are we gonna tell her? What are we even gonna say?” Burdous said as put a hand to the door, “I mean, they were close...” He pushed. “Um... I think she already knows.”

Their booster was under much less stress, tho... I think it was even subsonic. IIRC the abort will trigger around Mach 1.8, that’s a lot of air pressure/shockwave hitting a suddenly blunt surface.

Woohoo! I can actually sleep in on a Saturday!

Don't see it mentioned, so... AFAIK this was a planned test-to-failure, no official word yet on how it went.

You mean the same anti-trust rules that would, say, prevent Disney from gobbling up all other outlets and slowly becoming the sole provider of all global media? Oh, wait... Of all the challenges SpaceX faces in making P2P a thing, I think antitrust rules are the least of their worries in this reality. ...<coughBOEINGcough>... dusty in here...

The pay is meh but you get a free P2P rocket pass. Once available...

They probably want to verify the performance of their changes before stacking the whole thing, as another StarPopper would be very... discouraging... I expect the actual thing to go together pretty darn quick once they actually start on it.