The Retreating Ice

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The Retreating Ice

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Reposted from the old forums...

The Retreating Ice

The Lac Glaceians had been under the thrall of Gralus for years now. Their days of glory were over, and they had receded into the shadows, a pocket culture swept cleanly under the carpet. But still they persisted. Little could be said to have come out of the ancient city of Alpreaux during all this time. The ducal hierarchy had fallen into a state of such degradation that the peasants had grown to know it only as fable. A dark pall spread over what was once a prominent empire that had spanned the shores of the great lake and penetrated far to the western Hills of Heather. Only the poor peasantry, living in squalor, remained of these once proud people. Eking out a subsistence life on the land, harvesting a poor-man’s crops of potatoes, this is what they had been reduced to.

But there was a myth among these simple folk. A myth that one-day a child, born of a peasant family, would rise to manhood as both a noble knight and mechanical genius. He would rally the decaying people, and lead them away from this dying land to a new frontier. A place they could once again call their own, and one from which a new generation of people would be borne, raising their degraded culture back to the pinnacle of glory.

This is that story.

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Re: The Retreating Ice

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It was a cold and blustery day in Jardinais. The small hamlet was a rag-tag mixture of the poor who lived on the outskirts of Alpreaux. Once, ages ago, Jardinais had been home to great gardens, built by the Dukes of Lac Glacei. But as the Grand Duchy wilted, so did the flowers of Jardinais. Necessity gave way to extravagance, and the flowers gardens soon became vegetable gardens. Today only a few remaining stone plinths and statuary remain as reminders of its gloried past.

The wind whipped about the small house of Annalisse Aquitaine. Such was the force of the gale that the wooden shakes were ripped from the small farmhouse, and the rickety fence in the yard bent and cracked. Limbs were torn from trees, and the corn stalks in the field bent to the ground as if driven over by some great vehicle. Debris clattered against the small panes of glass in the windows, making a racket of noise but thankfully not breaking any. But Annalisse was not aware of the great storm that was sweeping over Jardinais. She was instead focused on her own labor, as the child within her made it painfully obvious that it wanted out. Now.

Margaret, Annalisse’s wet nurse, stood by her side urging her to push slowly but steadily. Annalisse gripped the arm of the wooden chair she sat in with a deadly hold. As another wave of spasms passed over her, she gripped harder, and one of the arms snapped.

“I don’t know my own strength!” she said to Margaret, managing a wry smile between the spasms.

“Don’t lose your focus!” snapped Margaret, always serious, but with the best intentions at heart, “You need to keep pushing. You’re almost there!”

Just as Margaret had finished saying this, another wave of spasms swept over Annalisse. This time she focused all of her energy and pushed. A wave of intense pain swept over her. Then a moving sensation as the baby began to emerge. More pushing. And then it was out! The pain was gone, and relief flooded over her.

Margaret began weeping in joy as she bundled the baby in some clean cloths and cut the umbilical cord, carefully tying it off. Gently, she carried the baby over to Annalisse, who took the infant in her arms. “It’s a boy,” said Margaret softly.

Annalisse, now weeping in joy as well, gingerly held the infant close to her. He was not anything spectacular, as far as infants go, but simply average. Yet in his mother’s eyes, he was a gift from heaven. “You will be a great man someday.” She whispered in his ear.

“What are you going to name him?” asked Margaret.

“I am going to name him Rainier.”

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Re: The Retreating Ice

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Part II

Rainier looked across the open field with great interest. It was afternoon, October, a clear and breezy day. The wind swept down out of the hills and caressed the valley in which Jardinais lay. This particular field glowed golden, as the breeze bent the tall grass to an angle that caused it to ebb and flow like water. Pulling his ever-present sketchbook from a backpack, he made a quick drawing of the field with a number of tiny notes; dimensions, trajectory, wind velocity, etc.

For a boy of only fifteen, he was already well ahead of others in his school. They had called him a child prodigy, but coming from a poor family, his mother couldn’t afford to send him to university. And so he took to teaching himself, visiting the library and perusing its great volumes as much as he could.

His dear father, Pierre, had died only seven years earlier, when he was only eight. Since then he had become the man of the house. The only man for that matter, since he had no other siblings, and his mother had opted to remain a widow.

He heard her voice calling from the house. “Rainier! Come! We need to go into town for the market.”

Rainier headed back to the house and helped his mother to bring up the horses and wagon. The short yet bumpy ride into town was a weekly adventure for him. His mother would buy food at the farmer’s market, and he would get to see the sights of the city. Faded as it was, Alpreaux still had many marvels and, unlike backwards Jardinais, held many mechanical wonders. In bygone days, the great air fleet of Lac Glacei was world-renowned for the great zeppelins produced by the mountain factories. The flagship of the fleet, the Tyruben-Class Floating Battleship Celeste was known around the world as Emperor of the Skies. Yet she had been grounded for fifty years now, and sat derelict by the old armory airfield, covered with rust and vines. Still, Rainier rejoiced at a chance to view the great old airship.

Once at the market, he asked his mother (for the one-hundredth time) if he could walk past the Celeste. She acquiesced, as usual, and off he went at a trot.

Up the street and past the castle, he could just make out the gates of the armory. Since its acquisition by Shireroth, Lac Glacei had no further need for a standing military, and it was incorporated into the centralized armed forces. As a result, the armory and airfield had been utterly abandoned. Tanks, planes, artillery, and other weapons of war sat abandoned, rusting, falling into decay; surrounded by a barbed-wire fence, that had also rusted to the point where it had fallen apart. The place had become a common site for children to play – to the dismay of their parents.

The gates were comprised of two old iron structures mounted on brick guard towers. Both of these had begun to fall apart so that now the gates hung listlessly at an angle, dragging on the ground. The brick of the towers had eroded, causing part of them to collapse. The result was that the gate no longer did much to block the entrance of people; nor did the government care to repair it. The weapons inside were so rusted and decayed that it would take immense effort to make use of them.

Yet as he pulled himself over the rubble, the corner of the Celeste appeared. The rotund nose of the airship pushing into the ground where it had fallen off its landing pad. Giant vines covered most of the ship, and the rear engines and propulsion system lay in a tangled mass where nature and looters had both taken their toll.

Once again he made his way through the rotting ship to the cockpit. Imagining the ship in the height of her glory, he could envision the vessel sailing through the air, engaging in dogfights, and defeating the enemies of Lac Glacei. Puling out his sketchbook, he flipped to the back, where he kept numerous drawings of the ship and its components. With meticulous care, young Rainier had nearly documented the entire ship with as much detail as those who drafted the original blueprints. And today he carried on with that documentation, adding yet more information to his retinue.

The time passed, and he noticed that the sun was beginning to set. He would have to hurry back before his mother came looking for him. But it was not a wasted visit; he had ten pages of drawings to show for it. Carefully packing his sketches away, he travelled back to the market; contentedly daydreaming of the ship he had left behind. He did not notice the gentleman in a black suit watching him leave the armory.

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Re: The Retreating Ice

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Part II contd.

A rap sounded on the front door of the small farmhouse. Annalisse, who was cooking in the kitchen, put down the knife she had been chopping up vegetables with. Who could this be at the door? She wasn’t expecting company, and the salespeople had long ago stopped soliciting at their ramshackle home. Gingerly she wiped her hands on her apron and went to answer the door.

She lifted a small slat of wood, and behind that was a small hole she could see outside with. A widow could never be too safe. A gentleman dressed in a black suit; black shirt and khakis, and a coarse black jacket, topped by a black fedora. She could not see the face under the hat, but immediately thought he looked like a modern grim reaper due to the predominance of black in his outfit. The presence of a stranger her made her uncomfortable, and she glanced to note that the deadbolt was set.

“What do you want?” she said through the door “We don’t wish to buy anything, nor do we have money for it!” she added matter-of-factly.

The gentleman kept his face under the hat but responded in a husky voice; “I represent the University of Steam Science,” he said “and I am intrigued by your son. I think he may be suitable for our enrollment.”

She was stunned by the man’s statement. The USS was a prestigious university that produced the best mechanical physicists in all of Lac Glacei. She could little afford to send Rainier there, but was more intrigued by how this man had come to know about him. “Come in,” she finally said, and opened the door to allow the man inside.

Annalisse was finally able to see the man’s face when she opened the door. The husky voice was attached to a rather handsome and noble looking gentleman. Obviously in his early forties, he was, she judged, about the same age as her. Her face flushed when she noticed him staring, and she cursed herself for not cleaning up better.

“Won’t you come sit by the fire?” she said, “It’s cold out today.”

“Thank you.” He said and followed her to the sparsely decorated living room.

“Please, sit, and let me take your coat.” Said Annalisse, who took them from him and returned after putting the clothes away in the closet.

He had seated himself on a burled old oak chair near the fire. Annalisse herself sat on a feminine rocker across from him. “What is your name, sir?” she asked before he could speak.

“I am Professor Emile Clarion, Doctor of Metallurgy at the university.” He stated rather casually, as if it were a minor accomplishment.

“I see,” she said, trying not to sound impressed, “So what is it you want with my son? I will tell you now Professor Clarion that we do not have the money to send him to your university.”

A look of irritation flashed across Clarion’s face but he restrained it and replied in a soothing tone, “I have been observing your son for quite some time, madam, and I can assure you that I think he has the skills to gain a full scholarship to the university if you’ll let me help.”

The statement startled Annalisse that Rainier was being observed; so much so that the latter part of his statement did not hit home just yet. “Observed? What do you mean to say, sir? That you’ve been spying on us! I should call the police!”

The look of irritation returned to Clarion’s face. And this time it stayed irritated. “As a faculty member of the university, I also conduct experiments. My colleagues and me often visit the old armory for salvage materials or to study sciences past developments. I probably go there the most, since metallurgy played a large part in the armory’s functions. And as you are well aware, you son, Rainier as you call him, is a frequent visitor himself. I am within my rights to visit the armory – your son is not. So let us not begin this conversation with accusations or threats.”

“I apologize. Yes, I’ve always known Rainier loves running off to the old armory to play. Why not? All the other children do it.”

“It’s not a problem, please don’t misunderstand me. We can’t do anything about the kids these days. I just watch and hope they don’t hurt themselves.” He concluded the last sentence with a wry grin that helped to ease Annalisse’s tension.

“So, Professor Clarion, I ask again – why my son?”

“Well, I rarely forget a face, and after spotting him a couple of times, I noticed him heading for the Celeste.”

At this, Annalisse frowned. “I told him to keep away from that ship. It’s too big and too dangerous. It’s so rusted it could collapsed on him or something.”

“It’s quite all right, ma’am.” He added consolingly.

“My name is Annalisse, you don’t have to call me ma’am.” She added smiling softly now.

“Very well, Annalisse. Your son is quite safe. The Celeste was built to withstand the strongest assaults an enemy could muster. A few decades of rust won’t have penetrated to her internal organs quite yet. At any rate, I noticed your son entering the Celeste regularly. At first I suspected he was salvaging items for the market, like some of the other children do. I can’t blame them with the economy in the gutter these days. But upon closer inspection I found that instead of destroying the ship, he was carefully documenting every piece of it! If my suspicions are correct, then you have a very intelligent boy in your hands.”

“And just what are your suspicions about Rainier, Professor?”

“Let’s call him here and ask him to show us himself.”

“Very well.” And Annalisse called Rainier down from his bedroom, where he had been quietly listening to the events between his mother and the professor unfold. He brought his sketchbook with him, but kept it concealed within a satchel he had firmly slung over his shoulder.

Rainier entered the living room and took a seat between his mother and the professor. Clarion took the initiative to begin the conversation.

“Rainier, I am aware of your activities at the armory and aboard the Celeste. I do not represent the University of Steam Science, but I do have a considerable amount of clout behind my position. I am here to offer you the opportunity to become a student with us, provided you can prove my theory about you correct.”

Rainier looked at the professor unflinchingly, and asked “And what theory is that?”

“I believe you have great talent. I know you were documenting most of the ship in great detail. If that documentation is of as high a quality as I suspect, we may be able to get you a full scholarship, with my assistance of course. May I see them?”

After a brief pause as he considered the consequences, Rainier reached into his satchel and pulled out the sketchbook. He cautiously handed it to the professor, as if it contained priceless art. The professor took it with the touch of an archaeologist and opened the pages, slipping on a pair of spectacles from his pocket. Clarion took several minutes poring over the pages before finally looking up.

“These are magnificent drawings on par with some of the original plans of the Celeste.”

Rainier’s eyes lit up. “You mean you like them?”

“These, my boy, are your ticket into the university. I’ll help you to make your application and sponsor your entrance. Provided the money is approved, I see no reason why you can’t start next semester.”

The boy looked to his mother. “May I attend, mother?”

Annalisse looked flabbergasted, “Of course, provided you could get the scholarship. I never dreamed it was possible. Why, professor, are you helping us so?”

Clarion smiled then. “Why, it should be obvious.”

Mother and son both looked at him questioningly.

“Because he’s our future.”

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Re: The Retreating Ice

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Part III

Four years went by quickly. It had been an intense program that Professor Clarion had insisted upon. Two years to obtain a BS in Steam Engineering and another two years to get a MS in Steam Science. There had been little time for anything except reading textbooks. Rainier was exhausted, but still eager to put his new skills to use. Yet here he was, ready to graduate just as the snows began to fall and the lake began to freeze.

His thesis had appropriately been a study on the Celeste’s engines; Improvement on the Gravipolemic Hyperbole, as he had titled it. His peers were enthusiastic about its implications, since the original graivpolemic engines were toys in comparison to the potential output of the new ones. Yet Rainier had intentionally held back all the information he knew; for they had even greater power potential than anything his paper alluded to.

Gravipolemics was advancement on the old Jasonian concept of gravimetrics, or the study of opposing gravity through mechanical assistance. The ancient islands had used this technology to lift themselves out of the oceans and retain stasis within the atmosphere. Most of the technology had been lost, except for some splinters of it, which Lac Glacei had developed for its own air fleet, and particularly the Celeste. But Lac Glaceian gravimetrics was based on steam engineering – as opposed to the older science that used fusion. The secrets of the atom had been gained and then lost again, so that nuclear power remained unused.

Rainier had grown fixed to the gravimetric laboratory in the physics wing of USS. It was also here that Professor Clarion had his office and did most of his work. Over the years, the two had become more and more like contemporaries rather than teacher and student, even though Rainier still revered the old man as his mentor. Today the two were bantering back and forth, as they usually did, over politics – a topic they typically tried to avoid.

“But I tell you the monarchy is apathetic!” shouted Rainier.

“I know,” said Clarion, who responded with the somber tone of one who has been defeated “But what can we do about it? Nothing!”

“I don’t believe that. To hell with the nobles, let them rot here and become part of the festering swamps. Those who believe we can do better, we can take away from this place.”

“But where?” asked Clarion quizzically “There’s no place else to go? We’re pressed in on all sides by the Gralans and, like a glacier pushes a mountain aside, will soon have us forced into the very lake we once ruled.”

Rainier was perspiring with determination now. “Not if we go up!”

Clarion’s head shot up from the microscope he had his eyes buried against. “What do you mean by ‘up’?”

“The gravipolemic engines, of course.” Said Rainier, as if it were obvious.

“They do not have that kind of power, even with your improvements. The best we could do is construct a larger version of the Celeste.”

“Several of them, actually.” Rainier calmly replied, as if it were a trifle thing.

“Several! Are you mad, boy? It would take the resources of all our people to make that happen. We can’t even feed ourselves, let alone build a fleet larger than the Grand Ducal Air Armada.”

“We have the resources, all we need are the people.”

“And how do you propose to get them? Where will all the money come from to pay them?” asked Clarion sarcastically.

“They would do it for free if it meant a new and better home. Call it volunteering, or community service, or nationalism, or whatever you want. But they would do it because it would give their lives meaning.”

Clarion thought upon this for a while. He twisted the gray curls in his hair, as he always did when he was going over an immense problem in his mind. He set his glasses down on the worktable, and sat in an old leather chair. “If people saw the Celeste in flight again, it might rally them. But even that undertaking would be beyond our abilities.”

“What if I told you the work has already been started?”

“What do you mean? Now listen here, we may be able to work on the Celeste for science, but tinkering with that old rust bucket is restricted.”
‘And who’s going to enforce that restriction? The government? They can’t even be bothered to visit the armory, let alone keep tabs on the Celeste.”

Clarion was curious now and leaned forward in his chair. “Just what have you been doing down there?”

“I know that ship better than anyone. And I’ve been slowly repairing the power systems.” Said Rainier looking rather defiant.

“With what resources?”

“Salvage from all the other heaps sitting at the armory.”

“Alright. Let’s say you get her engines to start again. What about her hull? Structural integrity? There are a million things that could go wrong!” he professor was pounding his fist on the table now.

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take. And if we get some help, I’m certain we can overcome those barriers.”

“You’re a gravimetrics egghead, Rainier. Do you know that? You wouldn’t know an adamantine alloy from a piece of brass.”

“That’s why I need your help, Professor.”

“Me? Oh no, I’m not going to go jump around that pile of bolts fixing things. I quit doing that forty years ago.”

“You’d supervise.”

“Supervise who? You?”

“I have others who I’ve let pieces of the secret slip to. They’ll be safe to allow in on the project.”

“Others? How many people are we talking about here?”

“A hundred. Maybe more.”

“A hundred?! Hmmm….” And Clarion began to ponder before speaking again. “Alright, so you’ve got me and the manpower. Now how are we going to keep something like that under wraps?”

“Don’t worry,” said Rainier with a devious grin “Just leave that to me.”

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Re: The Retreating Ice

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Part IV

A steel girder somewhere overhead in the hull’s superstructure groaned in protest as the engines tried, once again, to start after decades of neglect. From the outside, the Celeste still looked the same, except for some carefully placed patches. But from the inside, the great ship had been virtually gutted and the engines refitted with new gravipole thrusters.

“I told you she’s going to buckle under the strain of these new engines!” shouted a greasy and rather ragged looking Professor Clarion.

“She’ll hold I tell you,” Rainier, who also looked ragged and tired, but who still managed to defy Clarion “The new engines shouldn’t be putting any greater strain on the hull than the old ones.”

A computer console next to Rainier sparked to life and an automated voice began broadcasting over the speakers.

“ZZZZTTT ENGINES ONLINE. ENGAGING HYPERTHERMIC REACTORS”

“This is what counts. Up until now we’ve been relying on batteries to run the engines,” said Rainier.

“Yeah,” retorted Clarion “And if we have a systems failure, they’ll burn a hole to the core of the planet….”

“The safety’s won’t allow that. You know they won’t.” glared Rainier.

A loud buzzing noise sounded near to the engines and then a rush of what sounded like fire as the hyperthermic engines roared to life. The noise arced higher and drowned out their voices.

“We’ll need to dampen that at some point,” said Rainier.

“I still don’t trust those things out of my sight. I’m going down to keep an eye on them,” said Clarion, who promptly stormed off down to the reactor compartments.

Rainier sat down next to another man who occupied a small console and who had busied himself with his calculations as Rainier and Clarion had squabbled. He was a middle-aged typical geek. Pocket abacus. Coke-bottle glasses. The works. His name was Abraham LeClerc, but everyone just called him Abe.

“Abe,” said Rainier “I’ll never understand his problem with the hypertherms.”

Abe looked up from the computer with a distracted interest, as if he had been rudely interrupted. “And? Is this something new? He’s always had a problem with them. He doesn’t understand how we can recycle energy from latent heat right out of the air. It’s like plugging in to lightning. We’ve got more power than any fusion reactor could provide – so long as we don’t leave the atmosphere.”

“And we still have the old steam engines online in case of a problem,” added Rainier.

“Yes. Though I don’t think they’d be able to handle the added weight of the refitted ship. All they’d do is allow us to shut the hypertherms down and land softly. Not much of a help if we’re being chased by an enemy.”

Rainier nodded. He was concerned about the reaction of the monarchy. Especially since he fully intended to leave them behind.

“Speaking of which,” added Abe “When are we leaving?”

“I imagine it won’t be long. We can’t hide the noise those engines make. Someone will be sure to spot us now.” Rainier grabbed a com. “I’ll call Julien. It’s his turn on the radar.”

The com crackled to life and Rainier punched a few codes into the set. Shortly he had Julien on the phone. “Hey, Julien. Spot anything yet? What? What do you mean you’re eating? We just started the engines, idiot! Turn the radar back on!”

A minute passed as Rainier tapped his fingers impatiently on the desk. “Eh? Yeah, it’s as I thought. Stay on that radar!” He hung up the com.

“They’re onto us. We’ve got incoming troops. So, to answer your question – we’re launching now!”

Rainier smacked a large red button on the console and a series of alarms started sounding throughout the ship. Hundreds of people appeared out of their offices, workstations, or other places where they had been repairing the ship. Rainier’s pre-recorded voice sounded over the intercom. “ATTENTION ALL CREW! THE CELESTE IS LAUNCHING! MAN ALL STATIONS AND REPORT TO YOUR COMMANDER!”

Clarion’s voice came over Rainier’s headset. “Why are we launching? I want to monitor these engines more and get some data feeds on them.”

“The military is here. They’ve homed in on the engines and know something’s up. We need to launch before they get here.”

“I hope you’re right about the hull. We’ve only been able to reinforce it from the inside.”

“It’ll work. Don’t worry!” Rainier tried to be reassuring, even if he wasn’t entirely sure himself.

“I’m always worried about your plans!” shouted an annoyed Clarion. And the intercom abruptly went silent as he hung up.

Rainier charged to the cockpit. A dozen officers in rag-tag outfits were waiting for him. People of all rank and class made up his motley crew. There were businessmen in suits, and people who looked as if they’d just crawled out of a sewer. But each had his or her special niche within the ships immense control room.

“I want us launched five minutes ago! Let’s snap to it people!” shouted Rainier, who practically jumped into the captain’s chair. Everyone responded with a quick nod or salute and ran to their posts.

The engines roared even louder as the power level was increased. The entire superstructure began to vibrate as the hyperthermic engines sucked energy from the air and fed the gravipolemic engines. With tons upon tons of weight, the Celeste had sunk deep into the ground. Her hull had been half covered by dirt, and the remainder had been buried under a dense growth of vines and detritus. The engines were fighting the pull of the land – all the while monarchial troops continued to advance ever closer.

“Get this tub in the air!” bellowed Rainier, who jostled with the navigational joystick in front of him. He gripped the stick with al his might and pulled back, encouraging the engines to put all they had into breaking the gravitational hold on the ship.

From the outside, the ground began to buckle and crack. Blue flames started to shoot from the engine exhaust. The Celeste was moving, albeit very slowly, and to the astonishment of the troops who had just arrived at the perimeter of the armory.

A stunned commander in full regalia stood with his mouth gaping as the Celeste began to quiver and then lift herself out of the ground. Then he regained control of his senses and turned to his equally dumbfounded men. “Don’t just stand there gawking! Fire on the Celeste!”

“But she’s our ship!” protested one of the soldiers.

“I don’t care! Bring that ship down!”

And shots were fired, but the Celeste still had her strength, and the bullets were harmlessly deflected.

Still, the ship groaned, and dirt, caked on over the years, began to break and slide away off the sides. The engines continued to belch blue fire and the roar of the reactors kept humming. Vines disintegrated, and the ship’s nose broke through the dirt and lifted free.

Then the ship was aloft! Free of the final constrains of gravity, the Celeste was in the air again!

“Punch it!” shouted Rainer to his engine controller.

And the forward thrusters were kicked on which caused the ship to vibrate even more. For a moment everyone thought the entire thing might break apart. But then the vibrations subsided and the Celeste lifted her nose towards the sky and moved out of range of the soldiers below and up over Alpreaux.

The commanding officer below shouted to one of his soldiers. “Track that ship! I want to know where it’s going!”

“Yes, sir.”

Several minutes later the commander returned to his mobile command post. Not much more than a rickety old van that kept him in contact with the main base. He took off his hat, an old thing that looked like the one Napoleon used to wear, and picked up a phone. “Are we tracking that thing yet?” He asked gruffly.

A voice on the other end answered, “Yes, sir. She’s heading south, out over the lake.”

“Then she’s probably heading for Stormark or some other safe haven. Those damn pirates are stealing our beloved ship!”

“Wait, sir, we’ve received reports that the Celeste just crashed into the lake.”

“What?”

“Yes, sir, it’s confirmed by our other tracking stations. The Celeste had moved out over the center of the lake, and then abruptly hit the water at a sharp angle.”

“They must not have repaired her very well. I guess she couldn’t handle the strain.”

“The ship was old and derelict.”

“Seems fitting that they die in the lake, and that it serve as the final grave for the Celeste. Maybe now she’ll be left in peace.”

The commander disconnected the line and dialed the home office. “We’re reporting it as a crash, sir. Considering the state of the ship, I highly doubt we have to worry about survivors. It couldn’t have survived the impact.” And he hung up the phone, satisfied that the matter was settled.

Yet deep under the waters of Lac Glacei, the Celeste sat idling, waiting to make the next move.

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Re: The Retreating Ice

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Part V

“How is the pressure holding?” asked Rainier to his chief engineer.

The chief was a short and blocky man with a heavy moustache and a thick German accent. “It is holding up, sir. The water pressure is not too strong at this depth.”

Rainier spun around to his engine controller. “And how are the reactors holding up? We won’t need the gravimetic drives until we’re ready to leave again.”

“They’re also holding up. The water is acting as a buffer and quieting them down. Plus we’ve got the old steam reactors online, bringing in water from the lake and using it to churn the engines.”

“Good. We’ll need those until we can get the prism reactors built.” Rainier got out of his seat and headed to the stairs which led down into the engine compartments. Clarion would be there.

The giant ship had punched into the water at such a speed that even its crew weren’t sure it would hold up. But that was the intent after all. So long as the monarchy thought the Celeste sunk at the bottom of Lac Glacei, they wouldn’t come looking for it.

Its great steel mass had easily sunk into the silt on the bottom of the lake before coming to rest on the rock underneath the muck. Perfectly obscured under two hundred feet of water, this would be the perfect place to begin construction of the new ship.

The engine compartments were crammed at the back of the ship. One of the old hydrogen tanks that had once been used to float the carrier platform on the stern of the ship now held oxygen that kept them all alive. The other tank had been retrofitted to recycle steam vapor from the steam reactors, which sucked in water from the lake and heated it. While they were currently burning fuel to run the combustion process, Rainier planned to hook up a temporary geothermal tap and capitalize on sunlight coming down through the water. The latter was actually the bulk of his plan for the future ship.

Clarion was, as usual, poring over a line of computer screens checking readouts from the data. He didn’t look any cleaner. On closer inspection, he didn’t smell any cleaner either.

“Haven’t you rested?” asked Rainier.

“Rest? There’s not time to rest!” The old man didn’t bother to look up from his data sheets.

“We’re safe on the bottom now. The ship held up. We can start retrofitting things after we take a break. The hydrocopters should allow us to gain the necessary materials we need and allow us full freedom of movement under and out of water.” Rainier was trying to be consoling.

“Those contraptions scare me more than this old tin can.” Muttered the professor.

“What’s to be scared of? They’re simply refitted helicopters that have been made airtight. We’ve put the blades on mechanical pivots and made them telescoping so they can be used for underwater propulsion, and then air propulsion above. Very simple and effective.”

“Yes, yes. I know all that. But we haven’t tested them yet, so who knows if they’ll even work.”

“I’m more concerned about being able to lift the materials we need out of the armory. They’ll be watching it now. We’re going to need to strip all the old armories clean to build the new ship.” Rainier’s face took on a concerned look.

“I know,” said Clarion “But I think I have a strategy for that.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

“Let’s test the hydrocopters first, and then we’ll try my plan.”

“Alright, we’ll begin testing in the morning, but not for long. If they work we’re going to need to work fast. Winter is coming and the ice will soon freeze above us,” the look of concern still clouding Rainier’s face.

“The ice isn’t the problem, as you well know. It’s getting done before it thaws that is an issue.”

And on the water above, a cold wind blew across the lake. Along the edges, the water started to dance as tiny crystals began to form in an intricate network of ice lace.



Part V contd.

At the old armory, the hole left by the vacated Celeste looked as if someone had blasted a crater in the place. Commander Valeyon looked over the ruins disparagingly. The bricks were crumbling, and the place looked more degraded than ever. He looked to his aide and said, “Orders should be forthcoming from central about what we’re to do with this mess.” And he pointed to the mass of crumbling weaponry, “But what they expect to do with it is beyond me.”

Just then a courier came up to the two officers. “Commander Valeyon, I have a message for you, sir.”

“Good. Thank you, I was expecting this.” And Valeyon took the letter and began reading its contents as the courier departed with a quick salute. A look of incredulity spread across his face as he continued to read. “I don’t believe this!” he spouted.

“What is it?” asked his aide.

“They want us to move the armories to a secure dump.”

“All of them, buildings and everything?” The incredulity had spread to the aide now.

“No. But all these old weapons. The ships, tanks, planes. Everything that isn’t on a foundation needs to be moved north. And not just this armory. They’re stripping ALL the armories!”

“Sacre bleu! But, my liege, what are they going to do with everything?”

“Nothing. According to central, the weapons will be walled in at a special valley dedicated to the sole purpose of putting these derelicts away from population centers. Seems like a big waste of time and money to me.”

“I agree with you, Commander. But, alas, what can we do?”

“We follow our orders. That’s what we do.”

And so began the long process of stripping down the armories and transporting their eon-old weapons to the new Lac Glacei Armament Surplus Scrapyard. It was, basically, a small valley that the government decided to wall in with fifty-foot concrete barriers and barbed wire. Behind this the landscape was stripped of its natural vegetation. It started off looking like a giant parking lot, and as truckloads of weapons started filing in, started filling up like one as well.

It took months for the government to move all the weapons there. The old floating battleships and other massive armada vessels had to be towed in over land simply because there was nothing left working to move such heavy machinery.

Little did the government realize what a large can of worms they had opened.

The materials arrived so quickly and in such a large volume that recording them was impossible. It simply became a free-for-all to stack the scrap as high as possible without the piles falling over. In no time at all, the entire floor of the valley was filled with massive weapons that had been dragged across Lac Glacei – hydrogen battleships, armored zeppelins, steam tanks, ray-gun artillery, tripods and other assorted systems spanning the history of war.

Tall concrete walls surrounded the valley. Hastily constructed and topped with swirls of razor-sharp barbed wire, it was fairly obvious they wanted to keep people out. And when all was said and done, they closed the gates – this time made of solid iron plates – and locked them down for good. Nestled far away from Alpreaux, this massive armory would no longer have the problem of children playing over the derelict arms, nor would the government need to worry further over pieces going missing.

Or so they hoped.

It had been little more than three weeks after the LGASS facility had been stockpiled with the collective inventories of the old armories than reports of rogue pirate attacks came filtering in.

At first it was news that a small fleet of air pirates had suddenly appeared out of the north.

“They’ll never suspect where we’re coming from or where we’re going,” said Clarion wryly. “By looping south out of the lake and then heading northeast we can circle around their backside without their noticing.”

“Aye,” said Rainier. “And we better hit them fast enough so they don’t track us back to the lake.”

“If they do we’ll just fake another crash landing.” Added Clarion, reassuringly.

“No, I wouldn’t trust them to fall for that twice. If we’re going to hit them, we need to do it without their noticing. The scrapyard is so overstuffed with materials that they won’t know anything is gone until we start hitting the big stuff. And then we’ll have to make it really count.”

The massive hydrocopters were accompanied by even larger tanker airships; what essentially looked like flying submarines. Swooping down from the mountains they landed in the black of night during a downpour. The unguarded valley was theirs for the picking.

Materials of all kinds were wheeled, pushed, pulled, or dragged into the tankers. Whatever could prove the most useful was towed on first – unless it couldn’t very well fit in the tankers. That would have to wait for even larger equipment that was still under construction in the growing underwater base that the Celeste had now become.

Slipping out before the rain and night ended, they made their way back to the lake unmolested. For all the government’s ability to track them, they failed to note that they were not truly heading north over Gralus but instead headed south back to the lake.

Back at the Celeste, the melding of all their salvaging began to take shape. The Celeste herself became the cornerstone of a much larger mosaic of other ships that were welded, bolted, glued, and duct-taped together into a growing chain. Like the wagon trains of the old west, the chain of inhabited vessels continued to grow in a circular pattern across the lake floor. Yet for all its additions, the Celeste remained the dominant ship. Key locations were held open as if expecting a particular ship to fit that niche. And indeed, if it were ever to fly again, it would need greater power.

So work continued, and scrap parts continued to file in thanks to random raids on the armory. Meanwhile the stockpile began to dwindle, and the monarchy took little note of the shortening piles. They were more concerned about the large vessels in the armory, which stayed put. For now.

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Re: The Retreating Ice

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Part VI

The final pieces were starting to fall into place. The Celeste had grown from her original self into a massive ark reminiscent of an alien mothership. The outer ring made of the salvaged vessels from the armories was taking shape as a solid structure. The entire structure looked similar in shape to a giant dinner plate – flat and round, with a deep bowl shape in the center. That center bowl was first formed of massive steel plates overlaying an intricate network of machinery and electronics. Now those same plates were being overlain with massive plate mirrors interlaced with electrodes, which glinted as sunlight filtered down through the water.

Today, though, the mirror plates were not the main train of thought on everyone’s minds. The great ring of the ship still had open slots awaiting the arrival of the largest vessels to be taken from the armory. The government would surely notice this, and so they had waited to the last minute to take these steps. It would also be the most grueling task – the ships were derelicts that still needed to be repaired, and furthermore weighed substantially more than anything else they had hauled away thus far.

Rainier and his crew had prepared massive gravimetric tugs that would hook to the derelict vessels in the armory and lift them away. Accompanying them would be a fleet of smaller hydrofighters and hydrocopters that would defend the unarmed tugs.

“Are we ready to launch yet?” asked Rainier to his second-in-command, Louis Franc Pierre.

“The tugs and escort fleet are ready, sir.”

“What’s the weather report look like?”

“We’ve confirmed heavy rain, sleet and cloud cover. In addition, there’s a thick fog over the valley. We couldn’t have asked for anything more ideal.”

“We still have to contend with the ice and things will be slippery regardless of the magnetic grapples.” Rainier showed concern.

“We’ll punch a hole in the ice farther south,” said Pierre “Where the lake meets the river, the ice tends to be less than where we are, at the center.”

“Of course it means hauling the ships south, getting them under the water, and dragging them back to the Celeste,” added Rainier.

An intercom sounded from the control panel in front of Rainier. “Commander, we’re ready to proceed on your command,” said a static-laced voice.

“Aye, I’ll be down momentarily. I’ll call you when I’m at Tug 9.”

They proceeded down to Tug 9. Old Number 9 as she was called was the largest tug they had built. Originally an atmospheric tug intended for towing large hydrogen cargo barges from Alpreaux to other cities across Micras, the ship had been grounded years earlier. It had been stolen from the armory and dropped into the water, where it quickly sank. The water had then been pumped out from below and the ship sealed up tight. Rainier and his crew had then refitted and restored it to working condition. The repaired Tug 9 was strong enough to pick up an aircraft carrier off the water and fly it across the planet. It was the flagship of the mobile fleet now that the Celeste was virtually grounded (or, rather, sunken) until the last pieces were in place.

Like the other tugs and escort fighting craft they had restored, the ships sat on the lake floor like a giant parking lot to the side of the Celeste. Around them mini subs and workers in diving suits made repairs and last minute checks.

Rainier slipped in behind the captain’s chair as the rest of the crew took their positions. He picked up the intercom “This is Rainier, we’re ready to launch in 30 seconds.”

“Aye, aye, Commander, “ replied the voice.

“Initiate gravimetric drive!” shouted Rainier.

The helmsman nodded and a loud whir sounded as the ships gravity-defying engines roared to life.

“I want tactical displays on the rest of the fleet up on the screen. We go in together, and we leave together. Initiate the squadron beacons so the other ships remain in formation with us.”

Another crewmember punched some buttons on a console and red lights lit up as a computer screen blazed to life showing a tactical layout of the rest of the fleet.

Rainier barely finished saying “Get us in the air!” before the ship started moving, the others following closely behind, and flanked by a dozen smaller escort ships. The escorts were retrofitted atmospheric fighters; basically old planes that could “fly” under the water as well as in the air.

The fleet moved south where the river met the lake, and as expected, the ice was broken into small floes where it was easy for the large ships to push them aside and break into the atmosphere.

Night spread out across the landscape, coloring everything black. To add to the darkness, heavy clouds and a pelting mix of sleet and rain obscured visibility to nil.

“Switch to radar telemetry. We can’t use visual navigation,” said Rainier.

The fleet quickly lifted up higher into the clouds and obscured itself further. Moving back north it only dropped back down as the radar indicated the armory was directly below. As expected only a minimal crew was present and those were quickly taken care of by the escort fighters.

The tugs dropped down upon the large ships remaining at the armory. Massive vessels of war and commerce that had served the air armada years before sat sprawled across the valley. Some half sunken in the mud, others lilting to the side, others yet stacked one on top of another. It was a disgrace to those who had served on these ships that they should rest in such disregard.

The many tugs roared as the gravity engines reversed the pull of the planet and the magnetic grapples whined with electric current. Like giant claws from some ancient sea monster, they spread their arms and touched down with a clang on the old vessels. The magnetic current rippled a blue light as the arms clamped down on their prey. Rainier waited patiently for all the tugs to clamp down on their targets.

“Are we ready to get the hell out of here yet?” the question was aimed at everyone. Sure enough, calls started sounding back across the intercom confirming lockdowns on all targets. “Then let’s get these ships in the air!” he shouted.

With a sound like an earthquake of metal, the tugs lurched upward, pulling the ancient vessels with them. The soil crumbled and split, and gravity fought hard to keep them where they were. Yet the gravimetic power was too strong. The grapples rippled waves of blue light, and the engines roared in a deafening scream as the entire fleet pulled upward. Soon the entire remnants of the armory were floating in the air, suspended by the tugs.

“We’ll move out ten miles, then Escort 1 will take care of the armory,” said Rainier over the intercom.

As the fleet moved out, only Escort 1 remained behind. The largest of the escort fighters, it held a special payload. Ten miles was considered a safe distance, especially since they were being slowed by the extra weight.

When they were in place Rainier issued the command for Escort 1 to proceed with its mission. While Tug 9 moved slowly south, Rainier looked out the rear port to watch. In the distance, despite the rain and sleet and clouds and night, a flash lit up the sky and grew in intensity. He diverted his eyes for the moment. The bomb lacked the power of a nuclear weapon, but was enough to turn the walls of the valley to glass. Any inspection of the area now and they would assume the scrap vessels were bombed to oblivion.

The fleet moved back to the lake and dropped safely into the water. The final pieces had been delivered.

The foolish nobles would never suspect that the entire contents of the armory were now sitting under hundreds of feet of water, right under their noses.

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Re: The Retreating Ice

Post by Jonas »

Didn't have the time to properly read it until now and I have to say: excellent story, Ryan! I'm curious about the political aspects where you talked about, that you're going to add in the next part(s). :)
Important characters:
Frederik Alfons des Vinandy-Paravel, King of Batavia
Joseph Bartholomeus des Vinandy-Windsor, Prince-Regent of Batavia
Jin San, Diwang of Jingdao, Duke of Kildare

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Re: The Retreating Ice

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Part VII

“Are those damn ships welded on yet?” demanded Clarion.

A small and round fidgety man with small round spectacles nearly dropped his clipboard. “Why, yes, Professor, we welded the last one on today.”

“Well it’s about time! What about the mirrors, Melvin?”

Melvin continued to fidget. While he was an excellent engineer, he lacked any skills beyond that. “I believe the last one was put in place yesterday, sir.”

“You believe? Come, Melvin, we’re going to do an inspection of the prism apparatus.”

Melvin sighed to himself and fidgeted some more before taking up pace behind the Professor, who was marching off in his usual never-enough-time manner.

The prism apparatus was a vast network of electron arrays set up below the mirrors that now spanned the entire central ringed area of the vast new ship. With the last pieces – the vessels taken from the armory – the outer hull of the new-and-improved Celeste was complete. The final stage was getting the gravipolemic generators up and running and getting them enough power to get, as Clarion called it “this giant hunk and trash” off the floor of the lake.

The Celeste had grown so big that they now used small golf carts to get around the vast corridors of the ship. Over the great span of time it had taken to construct the ship, Clarion had grown much older, lankier, and crankier; although his fervor never seemed to dim.

The gravipolemic generators had been Rainier’s idea, but he had put them to practical application. Improving on the idea of gravimetrics – wherein the basic concept was to use opposing poles, like a magnet, to lift something off the ground – he managed to build a new engine capable of greater power than anything ever built before. But he needed a fuel source of equal immensity.

In reality, in order to get the massive ship off the lake floor and into the air, it required every ounce of push they could muster. So the Celeste had been fitted with booster rockets, propellers, a nuclear power plant, and several dozen other lift mechanisms. But the main source of lift remained reliant on the gravipolemic generators.

As they entered the vast warehouse-like area under the mirrors, they encountered what workers had declared the “rat’s nest”. Multitude upon multitude of wires criss-crossed the immense area, strung to the backside of the mirrors, which had melted from sand off the lake floor.

“Look at this mess! I hate it!” muttered Clarion.

Melvin rolled his eyes. It wasn’t the fiftieth time he had heard this before.

“What area do you want to inspect today, Professor?” he said, trying to distract the aging academician.

“The last plate installed and I want to check the connections to the battery supply. Once we start the refraction process we can’t turn it off until we want it off permanently.”

They moved over to where a bunch of new wires hung attached to what was the last mirror plate installed in the apparatus.

“It looks good to me!” said Melvin dismissively.

“Ha! You would say that. Look at these wires! And there! A loose connection to the battery supply! I knew it!” and off Clarion ran with wire cutters and electrical tape in hand. After ten minutes of cutting, taping, and cursing, Clarion was satisfied and said they could head down to the battery room.

“Do you think the prism array will work?” asked Melvin unobtrusively.

“I have no doubt the array will work,” said Clarion quickly. “It’s a matter of if it’s enough power to get up in the air.”

They entered the battery room. Long rows of black batteries filled the space. Thousands of wires led back up through the walls to the prism array.

The two did a thorough inspection and found little to complain about except for a dead mouse. “Even under the water we get these damn things!” grumbled Clarion.

Changing subjects, Melvin asked, “Do you think we’re ready now?”

Clarion lost his fixation on the rodent and turned to look Melvin in the eye. “I think we’re as ready as we’re ever going to be. And that’s what scares me.”


Meanwhile back in Alpreaux…..

Valeyon stood at the edge of the valley that used to hold the armory. The glassing hadn’t truly glassed the area, like a nuclear bomb might have done. But it was enough to melt the rock and leave nothing-recognizable standing. After the bombing, he knew he wasn’t dealing with a normal enemy any longer. He was dealing with people who had superior intellect and firepower. Yet they had acted like pirates. And this confounded him.

“Damn it, Richter,” spouted Valeyon. “I tell you we’re missing some sort of big picture here.” He pointed at the valley below as he spoke the words.

“I know,” replied Richter. “But command doesn’t want to do a thing. Those old farts just sit there sucking the last bit of life out of this place.”

Richter, Valeyon’s new second-in-command, was cynical even though he was young. And he had a vendetta against the monarchy – which didn’t fit well considering, as a soldier, he was pledged to serve them. Yet even Valeyon was growing annoyed by the apathy the monarchy showed towards making even the slightest gesture.

“I think I need to speak to Lord Jacques again,” said Valeyon, rather annoyed.

“Again?” said Richter, rolling his eyes. “You know it won’t do you any good. Besides, we already have our orders.”

“Orders for what, to look in the unclaimed lands to the west? That’s where they think the raiders are coming from. And I tell you it’s impossible. They’re much closer than that. They have to be.” Valeyon was clearly becoming infuriated.

“Look,” replied Richter, trying to use a calming tone. “If they’re not coming from the east, then where are they coming from? The Gralans certainly wouldn’t raid their own lands, and I doubt the Anticans would bother with us either.”

“I don’t know,” said Valeyon flatly. “But I intend to find out.”

What followed was a long and silent drive, as the two soldiers didn’t speak to each other all the way back to Jardinais. Lord Jacques was an aging noble who was known for his eccentric behavior. But when he had been a younger noble, with a more stable mental state, the Lord had been a good friend and ally of Valeyon. Even though senility had begun to take hold of the old man’s mind, the commander still considered him a valuable ally – and a means to gain support from an apathetic monarchy.

Lord Jacques’ castle was in Jardinais. Like the rest of the county, it too had fallen into a state of neglect and disrepair. The marble stonewalls and Doric columns had become tarnished with soot. Old urns that once flowed with ivy and flowers sat broken, the plants brown and decomposing. The entire place reeked of an Edgar Allan Poe work, as if the ground would bubble up and snatch a person, pulling them down into the unfathomable abyss. Yet as Richter came to a stop in front of the place, he finally broke the silence.

“Are you sure you want to do this? That place reeks of death. This whole damn country does. By all accounts we should just leave.”

“Abandon Lac Glacei? Are you mad, Richter? I have a duty to my people.”

“I know, and I feel the same responsibility as you. But the nobles certainly don’t. And I don’t exactly cherish the thought of going down with a sinking ship. And that’s what we are – a sinking ship that we can’t repair.”

“I’m not convinced of that yet,” and Valeyon got out of the vehicle and began to trudge up the steps of the castle.

The old oaken doors that comprised the front entrance sat wobbly upon rusted hinges. The wood itself had grown black and moldering, as if it would crumble should he rap the door too strongly. Yet it held firm as he knocked.

No servant came to greet him. Instead he knocked twice more, waiting patiently. It had become an old ritual of etiquette. Lord Jacques’ wealth had declined along with the Grand Duchy. There were no more servants, and the old man lived alone in the great house with only his daughter present to aid him. Belle was a fine young woman, around the same age as Valeyon. He had always been attracted to her, but avoided such thoughts. He was a mere soldier, and she the daughter of a prominent nobleman. Lost in his thoughts, he barely heard her open the door.

“Valeyon! So good to see you!” said Belle, who burst out the door and hugged Valeyon. It was all he could do to keep from flushing red.

“Belle, I am glad to see you as well.” He was clearly subdued.

“What’s wrong?” asked Belle, aware that she had perhaps embarrassed him.

“I need to speak with your father. Is he at home?”

Right to business, as usual, thought Belle. “He’s in his study. Please, come inside, it’s getting cold out.”

The snow had begun to fall as Valeyon went inside the castle to the foyer, where the touches of the grandiose still held their sway. Elegant carpets and tapestries covered floors and walls, and a majestic staircase swept up the center.

“I’ll fix some tea,” said Belle “You go up and see father. I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you. It’s been too long.” She smiled, took his coat, and trotted off to the kitchen. Despite himself, Valeyon was also smiling.

The commander went up the great stairs to the study. A massive room whose walls were lined with more books than the Royal Library. The musty odor of academia hung equally with the plume of pipe smoke. A fire crackled cozily in a large stone edifice in the center of the room. And there beside it sat Lord Jacques, poring over some ancient tome, trying to recall its contents as his fading mind slowly diminished.

“Lord Jacques,” announced Valeyon, standing politely at the door. “May I see you?”

The old man seemed momentarily lost and then waved the commander into the room. “Good to see you, Valeyon. Luckily I can still remember you, despite everything else leaking away from this old brain of mine. Please, take a seat.”

Valeyon grasped the old man in a handshake and then sat down in a comfortable felt chair across from him. “I wish to consult you on matters that have, thus far, kept me perplexed,” said Valeyon, matter-of-factly.

“Oh, that again,” said Jacques, clearly amused. “Always cutting to the chase, Valeyon. Not even going to ask an old friend about his health, eh?”

Valeyon was admonished. “I’m sorry, Lord Jacques. How are you faring these days? I apologize I have not been around to call on you and Belle more often, we’ve been stationed north of Alpreaux these past few months.”

“So I’ve heard, with these so-called pirate raiders stealing the last of our scrap metal. But alas, for an old man like me that means little. My health has been declining, so my concerns lay elsewhere.”

“I’m sorry,” said Valeyon. “I did not know.”

“Sorry about me?” cried Jacques. “Banish the thought! I’ve had an excellent life. But I worry about Belle should I die. There’s nothing left to my pension, and even if we sold everything here, she’d have a tough time getting by.”

“I would look after her, Lord Jacques,” Valeyon piped in, not even realizing he had said it so quickly.

“Well it’s about time! I’m old but not blind! You need to stop being a soldier all the time and think about yourself a little more.”

“How could you say that? You’re a nobleman of the aristocracy. Your whole life is dedicated to the people.”

“You don’t serve the people by becoming a robot yourself,” stated Jacques.

Valeyon was chastised, and didn’t know what to say. Jacques was right, and he couldn’t deny it.

“About the raids,” Valeyon said, switching gears. “I am truly perplexed by them.”

“What puzzles you?”

“Central command is telling us to look west to the unclaimed lands. They think the pirate raiders hail from some anarchic tribe out in central Apollonia. I say it’s too far given the logistics of what they’ve pulled off. But it’s neither Gralus nor Antica behind it; that I’m certain of. So where the devil are they coming from?”

“Sometimes,” said Jacques. “The answer is right under your nose.” And he turned back to his book and would say no more.

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Re: The Retreating Ice

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Part VIII

Clarion looked Rainier straight in the eyes. “We must take as many people as possible,” the old professor demanded. “I cannot bear it upon my conscience to leave behind those who would willingly join us.”

“What you suggest is insanity!” Rainier barked back. “We cannot afford to go public with this project. The whole plan is based on the element of surprise.”

“Then we should be sending out feelers to gauge potential recruits. We need to see what portion of the population would support abandoning this decaying wreck of a place and coming with us. And to leave anyone behind who does not wish it is as bad as the inhumanities we’re leaving behind. Do you want to start this escapade on the right foot or the wrong one?”

Rainier hesitated, which was what Clarion needed to prove he was right in his assessment. It was inhumane to leave people behind who would otherwise throw off the chains that were dragging this whole place down into the murky waters of decay.

“Very well,” Rainier finally said. “We’ll form some probes to determine potential interest among the population; one probe per region, no more, no less.”

“Good!” barked Clarion. “Let’s get this show on the road then, shall we?”

“Wait just a minute!” argued Rainier before Clarion could get out the door. “I want this done as discretely as possible. I won’t have you ruining all our work.”

“My work too,” muttered Clarion.

“ALL our work,” Rainier glared. “You, professor, can take a team of three comrades with you to check in Jardinais. I want teams of four for each survey.”

“Fine,” barked Clarion. “We’ll do it your way.”

“And no direct association with the project,” added Rainier dryly. “Ask with roundabout questions like how they feel about the monarchy. Get them to talk to you about their discontent, not the other way around.”

“I am a teacher, if you recall,” noted Clarion, with an obvious tone of sarcasm, who then promptly turned and left without another word.

“He’ll be the death of me yet,” mumbled Rainier.


Several days later in Jardinais…


Valeyon stood at the pier. A thick fog had rolled in and combined with the haze and stench of the city so that it hung like a blanket over the small buildings and vessels docked in the harbor. Soldiers marched by him in formation. Small teams broke off from the main column to conduct searches of the homes in the small hamlet. But for Valeyon, his mind was preoccupied with thoughts of discontent.

Had Jacques been right? Had he simply become a robot? But he had dedicated his life to defending the people of Lac Galcei! Yet the future of this place seemed so dismal that no amount of light could restore it. And what of poor Belle? What future was there for her here? And yet the most perplexing question was, what had Jacques meant by his remark about where the enemy was coming from?

Suddenly a soldier from one of the search parties ran up to Valeyon and saluted. The commander hadn’t even noticed him coming until he was standing right in front of him. Pulling himself out of his daze, he barked at the man. “What is it, private?”

“Sorry, sir, but we’ve found someone with a suspicious background.”

“Oh, have you identified him?” Valeyon suddenly became interested.

“Yes, sir,” replied the private. “He’s a Professor Clarion, a teacher from the university who disappeared some months ago. He tried to use a fake name, but one of our boys remembered him from his time at the university.”

“I wish to speak with him at once,” said Valeyon.

“He’s in the command tent, sir,” replied the private.

“Good job, you’re dismissed,” and Valeyon saluted the private and then walked to the command tent. It was a large brown canvas tent that had been hastily put together to interview detainees. So far their searches had turned up no leads. But this was certainly an interesting case. He entered the tent to find Clarion sitting in a rickety chair flanked by guards on either side.

“Leave us,” ordered Valeyon. “I wish to interview this man in private.”

As the guards departed, Valeyon grabbed another chair and sat across from Clarion. “So, professor,” he said in a casual tone. “You have presented us with an interesting case. I’ll start this interview by asking why you insisted on using a fake name when we asked you to identify yourself.”

Clarion, who looked rather tired and disheveled, straightened his shirt and spectacles before answering. “Your men scared the daylights out of me, that’s why!” he said with a defiant tone. “Bursting in like that on people, why, it’s uncivilized!”

“That doesn’t make for a good answer,” said Valeyon unconvinced. “But let’s drop that for now. Where have you been all these months? Even I am aware of your teaching at the university. My…. friend… Belle was a student of yours and she praised you highly.”

“Can’t a man opt for some well-deserved recreation?” asked Clarion with a smirk. “I simply needed to get away from my work.”

“I’m sorry, professor, but I don’t buy it,” added Valeyon with an emphasis of finality on the matter. “We’ve checked at the university. You could have applied for a leave of absence, but instead you simply disappeared off the face of Micras. Where have you been, professor?”

Despite his age, Clarion still had sharp wits about him, and dodged the question superbly. “Have you ever asked why you defend this place?” asked Clarion.

“That’s not the question, professor. But I do my duty because this is my home, and I would seek to protect it from those who would see it destroyed entirely.”

“So I can see,” said Clarion with growing sarcasm. “And to defend this great state, you must drag old teachers into the streets and beat information out of them? Is that how you support your ‘noble’ cause?”

Valeyon flushed red, both from anger and from being admonished. “The law is the law!” he stammered. “It is there so we can have order. Without it, we might as well be dead. It has nothing to do with being noble.”

“But then being noble doesn’t necessarily mean abiding by the law, does it then commander?” added Clarion in a soothing tone now.

“What are you suggesting? That we should abandon the law to defend more noble causes?”

“What I’m saying is that if you wish to save the land you have devoted yourself to defend, then perhaps the best thing to do is give it a noble death.”

“I knew you were working for the enemy,” said Valeyon incredulously.

“And what is the enemy, commander? Me? A simple old man? I highly doubt that. The enemy of Lac Glacei is in the air, it is in the land, the water, the people and everything else that is a part of this world. There is no immortality, and everything must eventually die. But in death there is life, and from decay springs forth growth anew!”

“So what would you have me do? Sentence my country to death? You are a mad old man!”

“I never said that,” added Clarion “But you have eyes the same as I do. Look around you. This country is dying, and you cannot stop it. No one can. Not even the nobility – if they would even try.”

“The nobility is not the military,” blurted Valeyon before he could stop himself.

Clarion cracked a smile. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“That’s not what I meant,” said Valeyon, trying vainly to correct his mistake.

“I think you did mean it. But don’t be ashamed, you cannot hold yourself responsible for their actions. Or, rather, their inaction as the case would be.”

“I still don’t see your point,” said Valeyon, totally frustrated now.

“What if I told you that you could save your countrymen from an untimely demise?” Clarion spoke in a calm and quiet voice, low enough so anyone outside the tent couldn’t hear him.

“What riddles do you speak, old man? I already serve my people to the fullest of my abilities!”

“I mean leave this place. Let it fade into history. Star anew somewhere else. And you, commander, could play a role in that. You could even give your, ah, friend Belle a chance at a better life.”

The last sentence struck Valeyon like a bullet. But he kept his wits about him. “What you are suggesting is exodus. And upheaving the entire population of Lac Glacei on some nomadic trek to who-knows-where is pure fallacy.”

“Not if we could move using a fleet.”

Valeyon abruptly stood up. “You are mad, old man. And you’re a danger to this state. A fleet? We don’t have, nor will we ever have, such capabilities!” And with that he turned and walked out of the tent. "Put him in the prison!" he barked to the guards. But as he marched away he felt shaken to the core. Clarion had made a point, and his loyalties now felt as if they were tearing themselves apart. He had to speak to Jacques again and, more importantly, Belle.



Part VIII Continued

Valeyon trounced into the home of Jacques, quite uninvited, and a very aggravated. Without even stopping to talk with Belle yet, he jaunted up the stairs to Jacques’ study. As usual, the old man was sitting in his chair reading another book. He casually turned around as the flustered commander burst into the room.

“I must speak with you at once!” blurted Valeyon, who had completely lost his cool.

“But of course, Valeyon. What is the matter? You’re obviously distraught.” Jacques motioned for Valeyon to sit down, which the commander promptly did.

“I need to ask you something very important,” asked Valeyon. “And it troubles me deeply, this question, as it shakes the very foundations of my moral principles.”

“I will help if I can, but I’m no philosopher,” said the old man.

“You must swear that what I am about to ask stays between us alone,” added Valeyon.

“Of course. You know you can trust me,” acknowledged Jacques.

“What would you do if someone asked you to betray your honor in order to save the people?” Valeyon finally asked after a long pause.

“That depends,” said Jacques. “On what you’re honoring and what the people need saving from.”

“You know as well as I that Lac Glacei is dying. But I swore to uphold the monarchy at all costs. Yet this seems to contradict what it is our people need.”

“And what do our people need?” Jacques clearly knew the answer even though he posed the question.

“A new home,” said Valeyon flatly.

“Ah,” and there was a pause. “And how do you propose we do that? Walk? Take the train? One million people are a lot of tickets!”

“I’m being serious, and obviously not everyone would leave,” said the commander, irritated by Jacques’ sarcasm. “But is it possible to do this? I need to know!”

“Anything is possible, Valeyon. It’s only a matter of how much one is willing to invest. If a people are desperate enough, they can move mountains.”

“I arrested a man yesterday who suggested that there were forces at work to move the population of Lac Glacei – via mechanical assistance – to a new location.”

“What was his name?” asked Jacques.

“A Professor Clarion from the university. Do you know him?”

“Yes, I know him. We worked together many years ago. Why on Micras did you arrest him of all people?”

“We think he has something to do with the disappearances at the armories.”

“He might, and then, he might not.”

“Do you think he’s mentally stable?”

“He’s more stable than you are right now, commander,” and Jacques was clearly eyeing Valeyon’s pistol as he said it.

“Damn you! I serve both the people and the monarchy! I can’t do better!” Valeyon’s nerves were cracking.

“No-one is asking you to do better, my boy. But what you need to do is follow your instincts. Not the written word of law.”

“You know he’s involved, don’t you?” asked Valeyon, cooling back down.

“I know many things.”

“Tell me what I should do?”

“What I want you to do is inconsequential. I would like very much for you to look after my daughter. But you need to make these and other decisions by yourself.”

“You know I wish for nothing but to remain with Belle and to do my best as a soldier.”

“I know that, and it’s why I’ve always liked you. But you cannot rely on the monarchy to give you the answers. You need to look for yourself.”

“Look where?”

“Clarion is a good start.”

“You mean release him?”

“I mean he’s more innocent than you are. Inaction is a crime unto itself.”

“And what would you do if I asked you to just up an abandon Lac Glacei? How would you feel?”

“I wouldn’t go. I’m too old. But I’d tell the rest of you youngsters to leave. Make a better life for yourselves elsewhere. It may not be the lawful thing to do, but it’s the right thing in the end.”

Valeyon considered this for a long time before responding. “And what of Belle?”

“Why don’t you ask her yourself?” and he pointed behind Valeyon to the door, where Belle had been poking her head around the corner for the last ten minutes. She jumped, briefly startled by her father’s words.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I heard the front door slam open and came up to check on father. When I got here you were both in such a heated discussion I didn’t feel I should interrupt.”

Valeyon quickly swallowed his anger – he couldn’t stay mad at her. “It’s alright. But let me ask you; what do you think?”

“I think your duty is to your people, of whom I too am one” and she promptly nodded, turned and left the room.

“I think I know what I need to do,” said Valeyon with a slight smirk.


Back at the prison…


Clarion sat in his cell contemplating his next move. Rainier would come for him soon, he was quite certain of that. But he strongly hoped he wouldn’t. He was instead hoping that the young commander would come to his senses. Luckily, he was right on the money.

Valeyon walked into the stone structure, leaving the large oaken door open. He motioned to the two guards to go outside and closed the door behind them. The commander unlocked the door of the cell and went inside, locking it again behind him, and then sitting down on a stool across from Clarion, who remained seated on his cot.

“Do you have a moment?” asked Valeyon, trying to break the ice.

“A moment? In here I have many moments to spare!” The ice was obviously broken.

“I wish to speak to you about what you mentioned during our interview the other day.”

“Why? So you can report it to the nobles?” Clarion was being cynical.

“No. Let’s just say your idea has moved me to rethink my position within the state.”

“You realize I could hold this against you for treason?”

“And you realize that my men will obey me to the word. All I need to do is tell them to shoot you.” Valeyon made his point, and Clarion mumbled grudgingly chastised.

“Go on, ask your questions.”

“You mentioned helping the people of Lac Glacei relocate. How do you expect to achieve such a phenomenal feat?”

“I did mention mechanical assistance,” said Clarion flatly, trying to judge Valeyon’s intentions.

“How? To transport that many people you would need an army.”

“Not necessarily and army, but just a very large ship.” Clarion smiled lightly as he said it.

“So you did steal the Celeste!” blurted Valeyon. “But that still wouldn’t be large enough.”

“Haven’t you noticed your armories are empty?” asked Clarion, becoming more amused as the pieces finally began to fall together in Valeyon’s mind.

“But where? How? It’s still impossible!” Valeyon refused to admit defeat.

“We were borne from the lake, so we shall be reborn from its waters,” quoted Clarion from an old Lac Glaceian text.

“I still don’t understand.” Valeyon remained perplexed.

“If you wish to help the people, then you must understand the secrecy needed in this operation. The monarchy must be left behind. They would oppose the move by any and all means at their disposal.”

“I understand that. But why are you here?”

“I did not wish to leave anyone behind who would otherwise come with us.”

“And you think I would join your rebellion?”

“Yes, although it’s not so much a rebellion when there’s nothing left to rebel against.”

“What about my men? I will not abandon them.”

“Don’t abandon them then. Take them with you.”

Valeyon was weighing the options in his mind. “I want proof of what you say. I will not commit to this treason until I see with my own eyes that what you propose is feasible.”

“Then you must release me and I will show you. But if you still refuse to join our cause, I cannot guarantee your safety.”

“Understood. Let us be off then.”

And Valeyon unlocked the door and quickly gathered up Clarion, placing one handcuff on the professor’s wrist and the other end on his own, locking the two together. They went outside to where the guards stood.

“I’m taking the professor for some more interrogation work,” he said to the guards, who promptly saluted and returned to their posts.

The two retrieved a nearby government vehicle and set out through the prison gates, dust swirling in the wind behind them as they tore off into town.

“Where to now, professor?” asked Valeyon.

“Take us to the lake,” said Clarion, who had a gleam in his eyes now.

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Re: The Retreating Ice

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Part IX

The shore of the lake was quiet. Small boats sat idly frozen in the harbor as dusk began to fall over Jardinais. Valeyon had his hands in his pockets to keep them from freezing. The moon glistened off the white mountains in the distance, and reflected out across the ice on the lake. He thought of Lac Glacei's flag, a field of blue emblazoned with a scene similar to the one before him now. He shut out the image from his mind. It was painful to think about, for he knew he firmly believed he was betraying that very icon of pride.

To his right was Belle, bundled up for the winter weather under a thick parka. Her dark hair was tied back and hidden under a thick woolen cap. A pink scarf obscured all of her face except for her eyes. She was as quiet as the ice itself. It had been all Valeyon and Jacques could do to convince her to leave the old man behind. Reluctantly she had agreed, and old Jacques stayed at his ancient home, giving his love, and hope for the best.

Behind Valeyon, as quiet as the falling snow itself, stood around a thousand men. His most loyal soldiers, Valeyon had sought them out in the night, and convinced them to accompany him on this rash expedition to the shore. And behind the columns of soldiers, huddling around barrel-fire's, stood the families of those soldiers - their wives and children at least. They could ill afford to drag the elderly out into the freezing night air and down to the shores of the lake.

If Valeyon was wrong about this, he would be shamed in all of Lac Glacei and possibly executed. He looked to Belle again. She was beautiful. He sighed. It would be better to face execution than let her live another day in this dying place. Then he looked again to the lake. Where was that damnable old man Clarion?

Then he heard a noise that sounded like the deep rumble of motors. Nothing appeared on the lake at first. But then around fifty yards out, where the water was deep, the ice began to buckle and crack. At first Valeyon thought it was some sort of lake creature or natural disaster. But out of the splitting ice there began to emerge the flank of an iron pillar. At least, it was smooth and gray, and somewhat rounded, like a column. As the ice slowly fell away, he recognized it as an old submarine conning tower. A large golden "R" was painted on the side where the old emblem of Lac Glacei's navy had been burnished away; the streaks in the paint from the metal brushing still evident.

With no light coming from the submarine, only the moonlight was available to show those waiting if this strange ship was friend or foe. But Valeyon knew better, and signaled to two of his top aides, who fell in line alongside him as he marched out onto the ice. He could see shadows outlining the shape of men atop the conning tower, but couldn't tell who they were.

He had to get within a few yards of the submarine, carefully avoiding falling through the broken ice, before he could distinguish Clarion as one of the men on the tower platform.

"You there, Clarion!" he called.

The old man adjusted his spectacles and then pulled a spotlight out from somewhere under him. The light fit into a mount on the tower rail and Clarion flicked it on, shining a white beam of light out across the blue ice.

"What are you on about, old man?" added Valeyon, irritated that the professor hadn't acknowledged him. "What is the meaning of this contraption?"

"This is your salvation, commander," said Clarion in a flat tone. "It is your passage out of Lac Glacei."

"In that thing?" Valeyon said incredulously.

"Of course not!" replied Clarion. "This is only the shuttle to the ship."

"So it is under the ice!" exclaimed Valeyon.

"Well that took you long enough to figure out," replied Clarion with more than a hint of sarcasm. "But that's enough information for now. This is our commander, Rainier Aquitaine." And Clarion pointed to the younger man next to him.

Rainier stared icily at the commander and said nothing, so Valeyon took the initiative. "Greetings, commander, I wish to express my thanks for inviting us to accompany you on this exodus."

"It was his idea!" said Rainier in a burst laced with anger as he pointed at Clarion. And then he turned and went back down into the sub.

"Erm, yes, well…" said Clarion trying to defuse the situation, "He doesn't approve of our taking on additional settlers. Nor does he approve of you and your soldiers, commander. You have been fighting us all this time, after all."

Valeyon nodded in admonishment. He understood all too well that for the entire time that materials had begun slipping out of Lac Glacei's armories, he had been in skirmishes with the so-called thieves. Many had died on both sides. And it had been a conflict in vain. Now here they stood, two enemies, now united in a common cause. But he had to swallow the idea, there were people who yet needed to be saved.

"How do we get aboard?" he called up to Clarion.

"We'll send down a ladder and a few gang planks you can lay across the ice. It's thick enough that it should hold your weight. We had a hell of a time with the thermal blasters getting up to you - it's over two feet thick here!"

Within a few short minutes, Rainier's men had ferried out ladders and gang planks, which were carefully laid out across the ice like a giant walkway to the shore. Then the soldiers, from both parties, began ferrying people across the ice to the submarine, careful not to let anyone be injured. Before night could give way to dawn, the entire group had been ferried onto the sub and was below deck. A clang of the hatchway and they sub began to slip back under the waters. Valeyon followed Clarion to the command bridge where Rainier was captaining the ship. The royal commander nodded to the rebel commander as he entered the bridge, the latter barely acknowledging him.

"You have refitted this ship nicely," said Valeyon, hoping to cool tensions a bit. Clarion had run off to tinker with his machines again.

"You recognize it?" said Rainier, cooling slightly.

"Aye, I remember the Ice Shark Class subs from the Centerflying conflict," replied Valeyon.

“Yeah,” said Rainier. “These ships are over eighty years old. But they were built with technology that hasn’t been duplicated since. At least, not until we did it.”

“You have restored the gravimetric drives?” asked Valeyon with a look of disbelief.

“Yes, we’ve done that and quite a lot more. The fleet is docked on the carrier platforms of the Celeste,” answered Rainer.

“Fleet? You’ve done this to more than one ship? And what do you mean about carrier platforms on the Celeste. She was never equipped for that. Do you mean she’s functional again?” Questions began piling up in Valeyon’s mind.

“Why don’t you look for yourself. We’re coming up on the construction site,” and Rainier pointed to one of the side portholes.

Valeyon walked down a side corridor to where the portholes enlarged some to offer a better view of the lake floor. Belle was standing quietly by one of the glass panes, watching freshwater fish flit by. As Valeyon walked up to her she cast him a slight smile, her eyes still red from crying over leaving her father behind. But as she turned back to the face the glass, a gasp came out of her and she pointed. “Look!” she exclaimed.

Valeyon turned in time to see the floor of the lake begin lighting up as underwater floodlights on tall poles started to illuminate the vast construction site. Everywhere were the scattered remnants of the immense inventory of equipment, machinery, weapons and scrap that had been taken from the armories. Some of it was carefully stacked, as if awaiting removal to some other place. Other smaller collections were laid out on the floor as men in diving suits and small submersible robots picked at the metal.

Beyond the heaps of metal where workers scurried about, the lights illuminated the outline of something much more massive. Something neither Valeyon, Belle, nor would any of the other newcomers would have ever expected.

Several towers sprouted up from the lake floor. Huge square metal conglomerations made out of the largest ships the air armada had ever flown. Between each and connecting the entire structure in a great ring shape was a wall of steel and machinery. Lights flickered on and then off again, people flitted by in the tiny windows. The entire structure was alive with activity, but was so immense that the people working about it looked like ants. All over Valeyon began to recognize the hulls of smaller ships and vessels that had been welded together to form the great bulk of this giant craft.

One tower in particular was extremely immense, and was fluted at the base, like a giant tree. But it was shorter, and came to an abrupt halt at the top where it bulged out again in a large zeppelin-like shape. Valeyon recognized the Celeste immediately, and knew that they must have retrofitted the ship as the command center for the giant aircraft.

As the sub circled about the outer perimeter of the ship, Rainier came walking down behind Valeyon and Belle. “What do you think of our little project?” asked Rainier, startling both onlookers.

Belle couldn’t speak, but Valeyon managed to sputter some words. “It’s immense, I had no idea!”

“Look now,” pointed Rainier. “We’re coming up on the new fleet.”

And as Rainier pointed out the porthole, the sub lifted up to the top of the linking walls of the Grand Celeste and large steel platforms came into view. Several platforms, each the size of an aircraft carrier, sat atop the walls. On them, strapped down with cables and chains, was a vast array of restored aircraft from the infamous Lac Glacei Air Armada.

“You can’t fly those in water!” exclaimed Valeyon.

“Of course not!” retorted Rainier. “Don’t be silly. They’re strapped down for the ride. We repaired them, sealed them airtight, and then mounted them here on the platforms until we lift off.”

“You can’t be serious,” said Valeyon. “You don’t really expect to get this thing off the ground.”

“We don’t have far to go on the standard gravimetric drives. We only have to get enough lift to punch the towers through the ice and lift to the surface of the water. Then we can turn on the prism reactors and get enough power to overcome gravity.” Rainier said it as if he had done it before.

“What are the prism reactors?” asked Belle, finally shedding her silence.

“Look now,” pointed Rainier as they overcame the top of the wall and looked out into the vast central area of the ship.

“It’s a giant mirror!” she exclaimed.

“Actually, it’s thousands of smaller ones, all hooked to solar arrays. They reflect and concentrate the sunlight into electricity, giving us more than enough power for the engines. Furthermore, when we lift off, the center of the ship will scoop up the two feet or so of ice, pumps will siphon off the water, and the ice will then act as a further prism, absorbing more light for us. As it melts we can use it for drinking water, and feed it to our algae tanks for food.”

Rainier finished as the sub started to back into the loading dock. With a hiss the ship slid into a niche specifically built for it and locked into place. A static voice came over the intercom announcing that unloading would commence. People began to shuffle forward, while Rainier went back to the bridge, followed by Belle and Valeyon.

“You’ve planned this well, and I admit your technology is very impressive. And it seems we’ll be able to get most of the population out of Lac Glacei. But tell me,” asked Valeyon. “Even if we get this off the ground and into the air as you say. The remnants of the noble army will be after us. Where will we go? How will we fight them off?”

Rainier stopped and turned to face the commander, “You and your men are one of the things that will stop the noble’s army, “ he said.

A look of concern spread across Belle’s face. “And what about our destination?” she asked.

“That,” said Rainier, “is a surprise.”

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Re: The Retreating Ice

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Part X

A Lac Glaceian scout sat atop the cold lookout tower along the northern shores of the lake. He was an older soldier, obviously relegated to a simple post since his fighting days had been over with years ago. Wrapped in tight woolen clothes and overcoat, he sat huddling close to the small cast iron fireplace in the tower. Casually, he picked up his binoculars and looked out over the ice. It was yet another cold day in Lac Glacei. At least it was sunny, he thought to himself.

And then something caught his ear.

A low and distant bellow, like some giant conch horn, sounded off in the distance towards the center of the lake. The center of the lake? That’s impossible; there’s nothing there! The scout focused his binoculars to try and clear up the blur caused by the great distance. Something was going on out there.

He stood up to go call his superior when the horn sounded again, this time followed by a tremor that shook the entire lake and shore. The scout grabbed on to a rail to keep himself from falling to the floor as the vibrations rocked the tower.

He grabbed his binoculars and looked again at the lake. The ice was beginning to crack and buckle as something below began pushing upward with immense strength. The scout ran to the phone now, dropping his binoculars to the floor.

“This is Post Twenty,” he said into the phone after a frantic dialing of numbers. “Get the Colonel down here, we have a problem!”

The scout twisted around and punched a large red button on the wall of the lookout. An alarm tripped and an air raid siren began to wail. In the distance, other sirens linked to the tower alarm began to go off as well, sending out a cold chorus over the lake.

But the roar of the breaking ice soon drowned the sound of the alarms as gigantic towers exploded through the surface and began lifting themselves towards the sky. The scout nearly tumbled down the tower ladder as the ice continued to pop and crack. The horn sounded again, this time clearly coming from one of the towers; and without the insulation of the water, it shook the earth and shattered the windows. The scout tripped out the door of the lookout just in time to collapse at the feet of the Colonel.

“Colonel!” he sputtered. “What’s going on? The lake!”

The Colonel, an old and grizzled commander, with scars across his face, and streaks of white in his hair, held an air of authority about him. Nothing could shake this man, no matter if the world itself were coming to an end around him. He looked pitifully at the scout, and then turned his gaze on the lake.

“That’s the Celeste and the rest of our armory,” he said in an emotionless, flat voice.

“What, sir?” The scout asked, but answered his own question as his gaze fell upon one of the great towers, atop which sat the great ship. But now, attached to this larger machine, it looked like little more than a hood ornament. “What are they doing?” he asked.

“They’re leaving,” said the Colonel with finality.

Suddenly the entire ground shook in an even greater tremor, the scout, Colonel, and his soldiers all lost their equilibrium and stumbled about. The only one who didn’t end up sprawled out on the ground was the Colonel.

On the lake, the ice began to shear upward in a giant circle where the walls connecting the towers finally hit the underside of the ice. A great crack sounded as the entire surface of the lake broke in one giant upheaval and the giant ship scooped the center of the lake up. The steel walls started to appear above the surface as excess water poured over the sides. Smaller ships strapped to the carrier platforms wobbled and tilted at odd angles as they shifted from floating to the sudden presence of gravity.

As the lower part of the ship began to gradually expose itself, the roar of the gravimetric engines grew louder. Throwing off the last reigns of the planet, the ship lifted into the sky, water pouring off in a thousand places, the depth of the lake suddenly dropping by about four feet as the vacuum of space evacuated suddenly compensated for the loss of mass. The soldiers sitting dumbfounded on the beach began to jump up and run away.

“Get back here you cowards!” shouted the Colonel. But they couldn’t hear him over the roar of the engines, nor would they have listened if they could. He turned back towards the lake to face the rising ship again. It was now hovering at about a hundred feet above the lake and continuing to rise. The excess water had poured off completely now, and the ship seemed to have stabilized itself despite its gigantic size. All over it lights began to flick on and people could be seen scurrying about the upper decks and platforms. The ship started to turn slightly as its rise continued upward, now moving south out over the lower edge of the lake, away from Lac Glacei.

The Colonel knew it was futile to pursue, but he also had a duty to perform – and for him, duty came before everything else. He pulled a walkie-talkie off his belt clip and clicked it on. “Get me patrol. I want helicopters in pursuit. Do not engage. I repeat, do not engage. I want to know where they’re going. Copy.”

A static voice came back across the walkie-talkie. “Copy, Colonel. Helicopters will be in pursuit in t-minus five minutes. Over and out.” The Colonel clicked off the walkie-talkie and returned it to its holster. Taking one last look at the leaving ship, he turned and walked back inland to where his jeep sat waiting. Helicopters flew by overhead in pursuit of the ship.

Although he wouldn’t admit it to himself, the Colonel knew this was the beginning of the end.

Image
The mothership Grand Celeste moves out over southern Apollonia

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Re: The Retreating Ice

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Part XI

Rainier knew they were being pursued now. His worst fears had come true. Initially it had been hoped that the remaining nobles would not seek to engage the Celeste as she made her way out over Apollonia. Yet now a fleet of helicopters was following in the giant ship as it lumbered slowly out over the sea.

"Get Clarion up here," he barked to a lieutenant.

The orderly saluted and went off, returning shortly thereafter followed by a haggard-looking Clarion.

"What's the problem now?" he asked Rainier without any presumptiveness.

"We've got part of the imperial air fleet tailing us. What's our weapon status?"

"Almost nil. We spent so much time on the repairing the engines and getting this thing welded together that we haven't been able to put much into repairing the weapon systems."

"Are any of them functional?" asked Rainier disappointedly.

"We do have a couple of cannon on the bow of the old Celeste that might still work if we can find ammunition for them."

The Celeste bucked as a sidewinder slammed into the side of it. “Find that ammo! And hurry!” barked Rainier. Clarion scuttled off back into the recesses of the ship in search of some ammunition.

As the Celeste skimmed west over Apollonia it became apparent that the flight would be a slow maneuver and that they would need ample ammunition or firepower to hold off the navy. As Rainier processed these thoughts, a blip appeared on the radar showing a newcomer to the noble’s fleet. Punching a keypad number he brought up a visual on the large screen. It was another gravimetric fighter! He had thought they had the only gravimetric-capable ship in the fleet, but apparently the nobles had been able to scrounge one up. The smaller ship had an engine just as powerful as the Celeste, but with the smaller size it was much faster and more maneuverable. That ship suddenly became the priority target!

Rainier was spinning the ship slowly around, positioning the guns to face the oncoming fighters as Clarion’s voice burst forth in a staccato from the radio. “I’ve found some ammunition and brought several guns online. I’m not entirely sure what their firepower is, but it’s all we’ve got!”

“Good!” answered Rainier “I’ll send you the coordinates as soon as I’ve got a target lock.”

Carefully positioning the Celeste for a direct blast at the oncoming ships, he purposefully slowed the vessel’s speed so that he could reduce the distance and get a closer shot. They may well only have one shot; might as well make the best of it! As the gravimetric fighter came into target lock, Rainier quickly noted the firing coordinates on the screen and key punched them into a console. In turn, Clarion received on his console those same numbers. “Prepare to fire!” ordered Rainier into the intercom.

“I’ve got the coordinates entered into the firing console. Whenever you’re ready, chief,” came the short answer.

As the ship swayed the target lock fluttered about the screen, and Rainier waited pensively for the most direct hit he could score. The crosshairs began to glow red as the maximum hit potential showed on the screen, and Rainier punched the com and issued the order, “FIRE!”
No reply came from Clarion vocally, but it was clearly understood as the great ancient guns of the Celeste bellowed forth a deafening thunderclap. The ship groaned under the immense strain as two laser cannons sucked energy from the engines and heated to a burning red with the pent up energies of the blast. The sky became split as if by a knife as the laser beam shot through the air, sizzling the clouds it touched. Direct hit! The gravimetric fighter, still directly over the remnants of Lac Glacei, glowed briefly and then burst in an atomic fireball. The blast ricocheted through the atmosphere and sent the other ships of the noble’s navy hurtling about like sparrows in a rough wind. The giant craft went hurtling to the earth, landing on the city and sending it up in flames. With one fell swoop, the noble remnants of Lac Glacei had been destroyed.

The Celeste bucked and kicked violently as the ship dealt with the aftershocks of the blast. Neither Rainier nor Clarion was aware that the firepower emitted by the Celeste would be so powerful. Rainier sat transfixed as he watched the last vestige of Lac Glacei disappear in flames. What remained of his people was now solely on the Celeste. Only the voice of Clarion broke his trance as it came questioningly over the intercom.

“What happened? Did it work?” asked the old man.

“It worked better than expected,” answered Rainier solemnly. “The entire city has been destroyed in addition to the gravimetric fighter. Only the naval remnants remain.”

“I am sorry,” answered Clarion quietly. “But we had no alternative.”

“I know, but you realized they will blame me for this, and that those who remain of our enemies will not stop until my blood has been spilled to avenge this destruction,” said Rainier in all seriousness.

“I do not think…” the old man was cut short.

“Don’t think about it at all. We still have a job to do,” ordered Rainier. "Get Valeyon up here!"

While the noble’s navy began to filter back into a solid pursuit formation, Rainier punched the controls of the Celeste and brought the ship back around on a due course west. He knew now that this was a blood feud, and that he would have to face those remaining forces eventually in a duel to the death. There would be no quarter now, no mercy, and no retreat. This fight would soon culminate with the complete annihilation of them or the enemy.

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Re: The Retreating Ice

Post by Orion »

Part XII

“We’ll make better time now that we’re out over the Shire Sea,” said Rainier as he swung around in his seat to face Valeyon.

“Maybe so, but the imperial fleet seems to have pulled a few tricks of its own. First the gravimetric fighter, and now a fuel transport and several other ships have joined up with the fleet of helicopters pursuing us,” noted Valeyon sternly.

“Indeed, they must have come from stations outside of the city, since everything on the ground was destroyed with the impact of the gravimetric ship.” Rainier looked over to the radar console solemnly as the numerous little blips filled the screen. “But they’ll be slowed even more by the additional planes and the need to re-fuel. We, on the other hand, won’t be facing such obstacles.”

“We may face obstacles when we hit Benacia. We still don’t know what they have stationed there that could block us.”

“That’s why we’re going to head southwest down towards the Skyla Isles and skim around the continental coast through Yardistan, which remains friendly to us.” Rainier pointed to a faded and yellowing map tacked to the wall that showed the continent of Benacia looming against the lapping waters of the Shire Sea. To its south and along its southern coast lay the isles loyal to Yardistan, and ultimately those who would give sanctuary to the Celeste.

A dark pall was cast over Rainier’s face as he looked squarely upon Valeyon. “Strategy is not why I called you here today, Valeyon,” he said. “I have another matter of great import to discuss with you. Please, take a seat.” And he pointed to a moth-ridden chair nearby. Valeyon, quietly wondering what was on the Captain’s mind, took a seat without a word of comment.

Rainier continued, “We have in our care some several thousands of people who have entrusted to us their future, among them your dear Belle.” Valeyon rose to protest but was silenced by a wave of Rainier’s hand. “Please do not attempt to cover what is already obvious to the rest of us. She is a lovely young woman, and you should express your affection for her, not bottle it up. You never know when the chance to do so may be taken away from you!” Valeyon was shocked into silence by the rare show of emotion from Rainier. “I have already set the path of my fate in stone, and as such I want to make it clear that should anything happen to me, you are to assume full command of the Celeste and take on the responsibility of leading our people into a better future.”

Valeyon’s face became stern. “I hope you are not planning anything rash?” he asked.

“Is not this entire operation rash?” countered Rainier. “We are fighting a war here, and I cannot guarantee that I will not be one of many victims to these battles. There needs to be a contingency in place should the worst happen.”

“What about Clarion? He has seniority on me and I am certain you trust him more than me. After all, when this war began we were on opposite sides.”

“Clarion is old. He is a great asset, a fountain of wisdom, and a treasure we must cherish and protect. But despite all these virtues he is not a leader, and he is starting to show his age. No, I can trust no one other than you in this task.”

“Very well then, I accept,” announced Valeyon suddenly. “On the condition that you promise not to do anything rash that would otherwise expedite my promotion.”

“But of course,” replied Rainier in a calm manner.

Valeyon nodded and retired from the room, not noticing Rainier’s crossed fingers carefully tucked in his overcoat.



Meanwhile, among the imperial remnant fleet the captain of the destroyer the HMS Astra Equis, Lord Lepardeaux, busied himself with bringing the rag-tag fleet back under the heel of military authority. A short and stocky man, red in the face and short in temper, he was known as “The Leopard” for his stealthy air assaults. But the camouflage was cast aside this time; the enemy was in the open and there was nothing left to go back to. They would pay dearly for the destruction they had wrought upon Lac Glacei!

“Get those fighters into V formation and out in front of the larger ships now!” barked Lepardeaux as he lashed out at his adjutant. The poor officer jumped in salute before running off like a scared rabbit. Shortly afterward he noted the fighters coming into alignment in front of the fleet’s cruisers and destroyers. Among the remnants was an air carrier that, despite being outdated and damaged, provided a place for non-buoyant aircraft to re-fuel. Also to join the fleet were three cruisers and two destroyers, along with a number of smaller aircraft. Most had joined from surrounding bases following the razing of Alpreaux, Jardinais and the other villages comprising Lac Glacei, narrowly escaping the blast from the gravimetric implosion.

The gathered group was not entirely aware of the circumstances that led to their chasing a massive ship, nor why it had attacked Lac Glacei. All that most of the soldiers knew was that rebels piloted the ship, and that it was they who had destroyed their home. And for many, that was enough.

Lepardeaux was a man filled with the hate and anger of war. With the destruction of his home, he saw nothing else but the complete destruction of his enemy now. Nothing would stop him from seeing them destroyed, even if it meant his own destruction!

As the imperial fleet finally maneuvered into an acceptable formation the commander watched the shimmering lake-ship slowly diminishing across the horizon. The skies were clear and sunny, and the ocean waters glistened off the great ship as it sped away. Despite the distance, Lepardeaux felt confident that he would catch them. There was, after all, no place to hide a ship like that out over the great expanse of open sea. When his fleet did reach them, they would be easy prey for the faster ships in his fleet. And with his inflated ego, he relished the thought of victory and the rewards it would entail. Ordering the fleet to top speed, they began their pursuit.

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Re: The Retreating Ice

Post by Orion »

Part XIII

The Skyla Isles came and went by without so much as a ripple from the Shirerithian forces stationed there. Whether it was due to their lacking knowledge of what had happened thus far, or whether it was a deliberate ploy was never really known. Yet as the ship neared Mirioth there appeared in the sky several Nelagan ships apparently hearkening from Amity Island. Whether they meant to intervene on behalf or against the Celeste was unknown, but Rainier decided not to stick around and find out and thus redirected the ship in a westerly direction.

The next landmass to come into view over the horizon was that of So-Sara, the islands of the horse riders. Zy-Rodun, one of So-Sara’s grand cities, flew by underneath as the ship soared over it. The city’s collection of wooden buildings and stone facades twinkled in the sunlight, and from the Celeste’s observation deck the crew could see people scurrying about, unsure whether to run and hide or stand and gawk as the immense ship passed over them. By this point, the imperial fleet was closing the gap between themselves and the Celeste, a point Rainier was keenly aware of. Unassumingly he inched the throttle up, increasing the speed of the ship ever so slightly.

The hyperthermic motors kicked in as the speed of the Celeste increased. A loud sizzling noise erupted from the engine rooms as the flow of electricity increased, and Rainier watched as the battery power levels began to drop. He would have to time things carefully if he was to meet his objective. Alas, his train of thought was broken as the voice of Clarion broke over the intercom.

“What is going on? Why have we increased speed?” queried the old man.

“The imperial remnants are closing in on us, I don’t know how much longer we can outrun them. But I want to make sure we’re over Yardistani soil before we engage in another dogfight.” he answered.

“We won’t have enough power to fight at all if you drain the batteries. So watch those gauges. I’ll do what I can to increase the output.” Clarion noted before moving to close the intercom.

“Clarion,” interceded Rainier before he could close the connection, “I just wanted to say that you have been a good friend. Thank you, for everything.”

“Don’t get all sentimental on me now!” lauded the scientist. “We’ll see this thing through to the end, you and I.” And with a click Clarion promptly shut of the intercom. Rainier smiled, knowing his friend’s mannerisms well enough to know that showing emotion was not the scientist’s strong suit.

Getting back to the task at hand, Rainier punched up the map screen and noted that they had now entered over the waters between So-Sara and Florencia. The radar behind him showed that the imperial fleet was now closing fast and would soon be able to engage them before they reached the shore. Florencia would have to be the destination of their landed – if they made it in one piece.

In the skies nearby, Lepardeaux licked his lips with an evil grin as his fleet closed in on the giant ship. “Block all transmissions from that ship!” he barked over the network to the other ships. “We will not listen to their lies, nor will we hear their surrender! The only way we will end this is with their destruction and our victory!”

The grim commander turned to his adjutant and barked more orders. “Increase the speed of the fleet, and get my ship up front! Prime the weapon batteries and make sure the cannons are loaded! I am going to shoot that ship down myself.” And before the adjutant could salute he stomped off towards the gunner’s cockpit.

The gunner turned in time to be grabbed by the scruff of his shirt and hauled out of his seat by Lepardeaux. “Let me show you how to take that flying scrap pile down!” he growled as he took the gunner’s seat and began punching keys on the console.

Across the Astra Equis bay doors slid back into recessed plates and the muzzles of cannon began to poke from the sides of the ship. Across the top of the vessels laser guns spun on their turrets as they aligned in there sights the Celeste. The hum of electricity roared as the lasers primed and warmed for firing, and the click of shells echoed against the metal halls as the cannons mechanically loaded. Lepardeaux turned to the gunner, who now stood idly watching, and barked angrily at him. “What are you standing there for? Get to the command console and tell the other ships in the fleet to line up beside us and prepare to engage!”

The gunner tripped over his own feet but maintained his standing posture before saluting and running off to the command console. Quickly ordering the other ships into position, he also ordered them to prepare for engagement. Lepardeaux, sitting in the gunner’s cockpit, could take in the surrounding view with ease. The commander watched as the fighters began priming their guns and slowly fell back into a long line on either side of the Astra Equis. The gap between them and the Celeste was now minimal, and he would make sure they had a clear shot from all sides before firing.

Back in the Celeste, Rainier watched closely as the imperial fleet began to organize in a line and knew he didn’t have much time to waste. Below the ship the tiny city of Lapano passed by them, the white stucco walls and Mediterranean landscape looking so relaxed in stark comparison to the tense atmosphere of the battlefield about to erupt in the skies above. But they had made the shore nonetheless! At least the relative safety of landing on land instead of water was now an option. He called up Valeyon and Clarion on the intercom. “Clarion, I need you to give us all the power you can muster. Strain the engines to maximum; I don’t care if it overloads them. Valeyon, you get some good marksmen with you and start manning the guns as quickly as you can. There’s no telling how much time we have before they start firing on us!”

A quick “Aye!” from both men and they were off running. Clarion dug in with his tools, barking at some novice engineers who had joined to assist him. Almost immediately the ship seemed to gain a bit of extra vigor as it lurched forward, just out of the range of Lepardeaux.

Valeyon was running along the steel corridors now, down into the belly of the ship and the barracks where a number of Lac Glaceian soldiers were residing. Many of the men were formerly under his command, and still looked to him as commander. Most of the men were spread out on cots, waiting for the inevitable news that they would be called to duty. As Valeyon stepped into the room the men all stood and saluted. “At ease, gentlemen.” he added with a return salute. Valeyon quickly pointed out several of the soldiers and told them to follow him. Together the group went through the barracks to one of the central elevators. “Alright,” he told them, “I want each of you at a primary gun station. I’ll be manning the main guns, so tune your intercom to receive further orders from me there. Be ready in five minutes!” At this point the men broke off in a hurried scuttle to man the numerous gun turrets located around the periphery of the ship.

By the time Valeyon had settled into the gunner’s cockpit for the main guns, his men were already verifying their status over the intercom. Besides the great laser cannons that had earlier taken out the gravimetric fighter, the main guns of the Celeste consisted of a number of smaller gunpowder-based turrets that operated by mechanical controls and with minimal electrical usage. As Valeyon strapped himself into the gunner’s chair and began a preliminary check, the voice of Clarion broke over the intercom. “Valeyon!” asked the scientist, “You won’t be able to use the laser cannons.”

Valeyon grabbed the intercom. “What? Why not?”

“Because,” answered Clarion, “with all the power drain for more speed and by using all the other guns simultaneously it will cause a massive drain on the batteries and shut down the system. We’d drop like a rock!”

“Can we use the mechanical turrets without worrying about a power loss?” asked Valeyon impatiently.

“Yes, yes, those should be fine. Just don’t use those cannons!” and Clarion promptly clicked off the intercom.

Valeyon sat staring blankly at the wall. The laser cannons were the primary defense of the ship. The turrets would only be good at close range. They’d need to bait the enemy in close and suffer a heavy barrage before they could score hits of their own. Well, if that’s what needed to be done, then so be it! He turned and punched a series of numbers into the intercom, connecting him with his gunner crew. “Prepare to engage on my command!” he ordered, “Mechanical guns only. Don’t fire until the enemy is in range – we don’t want to waste bullets. Let’s see how much the Celeste can take!”

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