High in the night sky, fireworks burst and showered. Crimson, blue and gold sparks catching the breeze and drifting out into impossible, fragile flowers. The smell of gunpowder filled the air, each fresh burst illuminating the tracers of smoke from the last.

The Caracasusian operative dragged herself into position so the weight of the railings would prop her up and coughed. It felt as if another two ribs had broken. As blood froth pooled on her lips, she painstakingly entered the code into the machine's arming sequence and pressed confirm.

When the armed gunmen burst into the warehouse, she had already succumbed to her wounds.

Five days ago. Caracasusian Military Intelligence – Nineday House

The holoscreen tracked the device as it climbed high into the air. The short red dashed line broke apart. Seven, then fourteen new blips appeared, each with their own trajectory.

Below, on the sparsely delineated landscape representing northern Caracasus three green dots appeared and climbed. In a dry, parched voice the engineer explained to the gathered military personnel that the events displayed were slowed down for ease of observation. It was, she noted, a demonstration of a worst case scenario – Caracasusian anti-missile defenses breached or bypassed by a multi warhead missile with unknown payloads. Her voice felt thin and fragile, but it carried. In the silence of the watching eyes it was deafening.

The gathered commanders watched in fascination as first one, then two, then ten of the red dots vanished. A second or two passed, then the remaining four winked out of existence.

She had explained everything more or less, stumbling over and clarifying those parts of her job where sheer technical jargon was incomprehensible to her audience. She could sense their annoyance, these gathered men and women. They depended on information and intelligence and here they were to be led by the hand by her. Guided through the technical details. She explained, as best she could, how the device worked. How it was possible to use modified gauss gun technology to project the interception missiles at speeds previously unheard of, cutting down on the size of the projectile and indeed allowing for more fuel to be utilized for stabilization once in the air. Truth be told, they weren't even missiles in the strictest sense of the word – rather relying on intense lazer bursts to detonate incoming weapons.

Cowed by the sheer weight of scientific and mathematical jargon, the gathered commanders beat a tactical retreat to what they did understand. This new device stopped missiles at close range. Good enough.

She had done what she could, now ahead lay a battle with Nineday House and her own research commune to move from working prototype to mass production.

Four day ago. The Council Elect debating chamber.

Ni'tyda – representative elect watched in dismay as the board flashed up as a failure. The representatives had voted, the referendum results had been collated and his petition had failed. Utterly failed.

He glanced up overhead at the suspended plate glass ceiling. He'd remembered coming here, his very first day as a representative. He'd been in absolute awe at the way the light caught the glass and how it flowed almost like water through fine filigree of cables, some as thick as his arm and others so fine you could only see them if the light caught them. Now though? All it bought to mind was a spider's web. A trap you can't see until you're caught in it. He looked out at the thousand strong throng of representatives, milling about and discussing matters of state and where to eat. It sickened him. An unsettling reminder that his petition was simply another Monday's business and would be tallied, noted and swept away to the archives along with every other failed piece of legislation. The adrenaline gone now, he had felt it seep from his muscles and stomach as the vote had passed the point of no return leaving him hollow and weak.

Nineday House needed more funding. That was all there was to it. So he'd tried, he'd made alliances, cut deals and done everything he could. He'd constructed an intricate political web of support and supporters, tacit agreements and deals. Like the web of cable above him, it should have been strong enough to hold.

It hadn't. It had crumbled in the face of decades of peace and prosperity. In the face of a country more concerned with the latest developments in hyperreal virtual environments than protecting the legacy of its revolutionary heroes and once again Caracasus would lag behind other world powers. Once again battleships would be decommissioned, warplanes mothballed and rifles packed in grease to be sent to storage all the while Caracasus's enemies poured billions of hours and resources into new weaponry.

Still, if it took a real threat to get people to open their damn eyes and pay attention to the dangers his country faced, so be it. He disengaged from a conversation about Boani trade agreements and found the comfort and isolation of the toilets. It was there, safely behind a cubicle door that he sent the message. His comms device beeped in recognition. A two letter reply. OK.

Two days ago – Quoris City docks – Caracasus

It was, Ian mused, an interesting enough observation about Caracasusians. When he'd first entered the country he'd been amazed at the prevalence of openly adulterous relationships. In a country where fidelity appeared to be as foreign a concept as hard work or sobriety, the mocking parting words of his handler appeared to run true. You're going to have to adapt your usual strategy if you want to make headway here.

The old git was jealous of course, likely suspicious enough of his young trophy wife and the dashing young agent he'd been forced to introduce her to. He was right to be suspicious of course, for at least four instances Ian could recall. The mere fact that those suspicions remained unproven said something about Ian's skills, or perhaps something about his handler's lack of them. Either way, he'd been looking forward to a really big win that would push him out of the bastard's shadow for good. He'd set up his own team. Good people, smart people. And a secretary. A brunette maybe. He had always had a thing....

He smiled in the darkness. The funny thing was, even though your average Caracasusian changed partners more often than bedsheets, when you found the few that were in genuine, monogamous relationships... well, those ones took it far more seriously than you'd ever imagine.

And right on time, here she was. He caught sight of her coat, her clothes. So different, so dowdy in comparison to what she'd been wearing when they'd first met.

The exchange was brief. He'd reassured her, given her the camera. Her husband and child would never know. All she had to do was swap a shipping label. She'd seen the destination – Parsoh – and her own guilty conscience had worked overtime to try and alleviate her burden.

Drugs, she'd suggested. Nothing more than a little smuggling, right?

He'd lied easily. Of course, he'd told her, how cleaver of her it had been to figure it out. Drugs. Harmless fun in pill form, ready to be smuggled somewhere far more prudish than Caracasus.

Thirty minutes ago – Parsoh harbour. Exinium Imports Warehouse.

Abed was bored, though bored was understating it considerably. Night shift paid reasonably well, and it gave him time to study. Beyond that the job consisted of nothing but staring at last year's naughty calender and completing his rounds.

His polyester uniform itched, his holster rode low on his hips. Way back, when he had first started the job he'd asked for a better fitting belt. Six months down the line, his manager had suggested fixing it with tape. Now the belt still hung too low, and the ragged edge of the tape dug into his side.

The two dimensional figure of April's Miss Sprinkler System and Lawncare gazed at him provocatively, her modesty protected behind a conveniently placed hose reel assembly. He yawned, burped – tasting the curried noodle pot he'd eaten for dinner fighting back against his digestive system and sighed.

Was it really worth it? Years of study behind him, years of trying to keep up with the kids whose parents could afford private tutors and holidays in Cardulan while he worked weekends to help pay for his family's rented apartment. And now what? Three, four more years at a minimum working nights while his uni friends drank or snorted away mummy and daddy's money in fancy bars and clubs. He'd been able to push those thoughts down for a while now; he'd learned from experience that if he wanted to make friends pointing out how pampered and sheltered his classmates' lives were was not the way to go about it. Tonight though, with the fireworks and the parties...

Technically he only had to patrol every hour. He used the rest of his time to read through his textbooks and complete assignments. He'd started off hiding it, concealing it from his manager, however when it became apparent that his only real job was to sit in a chair and be somewhat visible he'd given up the pretense.

It was still another half hour before the next patrol. Still, it wasn't like he could concentrate with the fireworks going off...

He hadn't seen how the woman had gotten into the warehouse but here she was. Quietly, quieter than he had imagined anyone could ever move she was walking from crate to crate. Overhead the steel beam crane slumbered, harsh light from fluorescent bulbs and stacks of boxes turning the poured concrete floor into a chessboard picked out in shadows.

Later, when interviewed by the police, he was unable to say exactly what happened. He'd yelled and she'd turned, quickly – something – a gun perhaps – in her hand. He'd fumbled for his belt, the tape tearing at exactly the wrong point and bought up his own gun. He'd heard three bangs and his hand and arm had jarred with every pull of the trigger. He backed off to the office, running, not daring to look behind him and she'd somehow caused the heavy shutter door to close. He'd remembered his phone and dialled the emergency line.

Parsoh – Now

As the firework display reached its climax, something burst through the roof of the Exinium Imports Warehouse and took to the sky. A split second later the abort code kicked in and it detonated, high above the city. Police reports of the evening mentioned an unknown armed assailant whose DNA profile came back unknown on every legal (and more than a few illegal) search. Officially, Exinium Imports filed an insurance claim for the loss of six dozen pallets of fireworks, presumed detonated by a stray bullet, and structural damage to the warehouse following the blast.

Archived news report from the Ellery Camp Pravda

UNTIMELY DEATH OF FOOTBALLERS

The disturbing tendency for World Cup 36 to become a byword for violence and suffering continued today when it was confirmed that the 22 year-old Potoroo defender from Rodger River, narva, was killed by giant two-headed leeches at the University of First Creek Falls. Two other victims of the leeches are believed to be members of the Abu omar national team, although this is yet to be confirmed. In honour of the fallen footballers, the two teams wore green armbands in the World Cup qualifying match (see separate report).

At a press conference the dean of the University, ananepubli, said that the young Potoroo defender was a student in the sociology department. “She was doing an honours thesis entitled, ‘The Structure and Politics of Post-Economy Co-operative Groups’. This, of course, has nothing to do with giant two-headed leeches but it seems she had befriended the two young men and took them to see the famous leeches, unbeknownst to the Department of Engineered Zoology. As you may know it’s a semester break here at the University. What’s more, that particular day was a staff holiday. As a result of this nobody was in attendance to keep an eye on them in the leech pen.”

The head of the laboratory, rankenstoo, told the press conference that it appeared that narva opened the access flap, unaware that a giant two-headed leech was on the other side. “It quickly overcame her. The other two rushed to her aid but, of course, they had no idea of the mortal danger they were in. Alerted by the commotion other leeches also attacked. The poor men had no chance.”

rankenstoo explained how the leeches, even though they were genetically engineered, are effective killers. “One of the heads goes for the nose and mouth, usually covering them completely, while the other strikes for the jugular. They simultaneously suffocate the unfortunate wretch with one maw and start pumping blood into the other maw at a prodigious rate. The usual reaction of a victim is to try and clear their airway by bringing both hands or paws, depending on your species, up to their mouth. This leaves the throat attacking head free to gorge. Our estimate is that one of these leeches can suck all the blood from a human in about 45 seconds. So, in the space of one breath, it’s good night Irene.”

When asked how many leeches had escaped, rankenstoo took a deep breath and admitted, “Five hundred.” After many gasps from those present, he went on to explain that they escaped from the building through the ventilation system. “There are some things worth noting about these creatures. They are acutely sensitive to changes in moisture and temperature and will instinctively move to colder, wetter locations where they flourish. They are also extremely sensitive to vibrations. The usual method of attack is to climb up an overhanging object and wait until something passes below. The vibrations of the passing creature are picked up by the leech which then simply drops upon it’s victim. Finally, they have a powerful odour – I don’t know – like a chemical factory I suppose. I think people will need to get to know that smell. It might be the difference between life and death.”

There is no trace of the leeches at the time of publication. Recent heavy rains have obliterated any trail they might have left. Fortunately, the University is situated in a somewhat remote location. Says rankenstoo, “Figure out where the wettest and coldest spot is in the area and that’s where they are likely to turn up.”

Archived news reports from the Rooty Break International Herald Tribune (Your local paper with an expansive view)

WET AND COLD WEATHER AHEAD FOR FROSTY HOLLOW

Senior forecaster at the Bureau of Meteorology, laocoon, is predicting wet weather leading up to the crucial final match of World Cup qualifying against Bostopia. “So far as I can see we have a series of troughs passing over the Plateau. This means constant rain over the forecast period. There will be a high pressure system eventually but, although that will bring relief from the rain it will also have it’s own problems: clear skies mean low overnight temperatures. Expect severe frosts. Of course, Frosty Hollow, being the wettest and coldest place on the Plateau, will cop the brunt of the weather. It will either be subject to heavy rain or sub-zero temperatures. That won’t deter me or my two young sons. We’ve got our tickets and we’re looking forward to the big match. It could determine who qualifies and who has to go to the play-offs.”

WILD THEORIES ABOUT FROSTY HOLLOW

A new cult group, calling themselves the ERRINU Appreciation Society, are claiming that the Dreamtime tree, ERRINU, once lived on the very spot where the Frosty Hollow football ground is now located. Convenor of the society, ruitcakoo, says that it would explain the problems with the ground. “Just about every time an international match is played there some sort of disaster happens. Its reputation for misfortune is legendary. The E. A. S. has proof that ERRINU is seriously annoyed and is punishing us for our sacrilege.” When asked what the proof was, ruitcakoo insisted that a person had to be an initiate in the E. A. S before the secret forest business could be revealed.

When we asked the Errinundera Football Association convenor, imonedebouvoi, for a comment she pulled her hair and frothed at the mouth and screamed, “Typical. I suppose we will now have riots and an attempt to torch the stadium in order to appease some leech-ridden figment of people’s imagination.”

****

Some notes on the use of capitalisation. Errinundera has been described as not having discovered capital letter technology. This misconception has come about because Errinundrians do not use capital letters in their personal names. The above news items provide examples. Contrast this with the names given to sacred trees such as PELLOCAR or OALUSH'N (or ERRINU). Errinundrians see themselves as insignificant compared with their wonderful trees and the earth that nourishes them. Their use of capital letter technology reflects this deference to nature.

Archived news reports from the Mount Ellery Evening Gazette

ARE GIANT LEECHES HEADING NORTH?

Reports are coming in from the Plateau that desiccated bodies of potoroos are being found north of First Creek Falls where the giant two-headed leeches escaped from captivity. Rooty Break sniffer wombat trainer, uriou, told us today that sniffer wombats were regularly finding the poor creatures. “There’s a trail of the carcasses going back to the university. The weird thing is that the wombats are agitated by the discoveries. I didn’t realise they find potoroos as cute as we do. Perhaps they are disturbed by the thought of the leeches.”

The Evening Gazette can reveal inside information from the ERRINU Appreciation Society who believe that the notorious Frosty Hollow is built on the site of the original Dreamtime tree, ERRINU. “There are hitherto undetected psychic energy lines that radiate out from Frosty Hollow,” explained our source. “The leeches are able to detect this radiation and are following it to its source.”

When put to the convenor of the society, ruitcakoo, she denied the claims categorically. “That’s my brother ruitloo. He’s an idiot. I wouldn’t pay any attention to him.” We think it runs in the family.

POTOROOS SLIP PAST BOSTOPIA – QUALIFICATION STILL IN DOUBT

Group 11 spanner throwers, Bushes Been Quaked, upset proceedings in qualifying for World Cup 36 today when they unexpectedly defeated the fancied Bostopia outfit. The Potoroos know how the Bostopians feel. They too conceded a game to the BBQers. Errinundera has benefitted from the situation by leapfrogging Bostopia into second position on the table after a comprehensive 6-nil victory over Rugiero here at the Cavern...

...Despite the improved position in the table, the Potoroos’ chances of avoiding the play-offs haven’t changed. “It will still come down to our last match against Bostopia in Frosty Hollow,” explained wing player ipieomenicu. “In fact, we could still conceivably miss qualification altogether. Bostopia and Bushes Been Quaked could both overtake us. How come all these B teams are doing so well?”

****

Some notes on Frosty Hollow. Situated on the outskirts of Rooty Break and not far from Errinundera's capital, First Creek Falls, Frosty Hollow was the premier stadium in the nation at a time when football was establishing itself in Errinundera. In those early days it was the home ground of the two towns and also Goonmirk Rocks. As the only large stadium in the nation at the time Frosty Hollow was the national team's home ground for World Cup 6 qualifying. That event was held in the middle of the Errinundrian winter and, after several matches were spoiled by extreme weather conditions, the Errinundera Football Association sought to replace it with other grounds. Fortunately, the underground Cavern in Mount Ellery and the Milosis Coliseum in McKillops Bridge were ready in time for World Cup 7 qualifying and international matches ceased to be played at the ground.

When it became apparent that First Creek Falls was going to build a new stadium at Hairy Man Falls, the Rooty Break and Goonmirk Rocks clubs, fearing irrelevance, decided to upgrade the stadium. The new stadium was sunk into the earth so that the tops of the stands are level with the ground outside. The surrounding land is quite steep and uneven. This means that, from inside the stadium, the view is dominated by the huge shining gums of the surrounding forest. In World Cup 30, it was decided to use the refurbished Frosty Hollow for the match against Spaamanian plijous. The game went ahead despite warnings from the weather bureau that a severe storm was approaching. It struck shortly after the half-time interval killing 26 people including the vice-captain of the Errinundrian team, ubhashinim, who was crushed by a falling tree. Her captain, keok, was severely injured and subsequently retired. Following the disaster, Ariddia generously named their new stadium ubhashinim Ahwa'u Stadium in her honour. Errinundera set up the ubhashinim Scholarship whereby promising young overseas players are sponsored to study at the renowned National Football Academy.

Because of its notoriety and because it often experiences bad weather, the EFA later scheduled World Cup matches against its most bitter rivals at the ground. It is not known whether this provided any advantage for the home side, although the Frosty fans are some of the most loyal and vocal in the country. The ground has continued to live up to its fearsome reputation, including one match played as bushfires raged around, eventually being inducted into the World Cup Hall of fame.

This verse was penned as part of an alphabet poem by an anonymous fan from Zwangzug:

F is for Frosty Hollow
As toxic as Radium
That's why Ariddia built
ubhashinim Ahwa'u Stadium

Pumping Power Part 4: the Powerful Conclusion (sort of)

Archived news reports from the Rooty Break International Herald Tribune (Your local paper with an expansive view)

FROSTY HOLLOW FREAKERY #1
COLD SNAP LOWEST IN 120 YEARS

Barely six months after perhaps its worst ever bushfire season, the Errinundera Plateau has, over the past two weeks, been subject to some of its worst weather for 120 years. This has culminated in 2 days of extreme frosts the likes of which haven’t been experienced since that infamous winter in 2007. For two nights running temperatures at Frosty Hollow fell to as low as -10º C. Fans at the qualifying match against Bostopia shivered as the maximum did not go above –4º C all day. They should be grateful. Yesterday it didn’t rise above –6º C.

Stand in deputy senior forecaster at the Bureau of Meteorology explained to us that after two weeks of wet and windy weather, caused by a succession of low pressure troughs, a slow moving high pressure system has dominated weather patterns this last two days. “The centre of the high has parked itself right above Frosty Hollow. This means no wind and no clouds. Heat is rapidly lost to space causing overnight temperatures to plummet rapidly. Any creature caught out there without a warm burrow or hollow to crawl into could be in big trouble.

Emergency services have been kept busy throughout the Plateau as cobbled together tree heating systems either failed or set the trees alight. Local volunteer, grahamj, from the Rooty Break Emergency Collective agreed that keeping a house tree warm in these conditions could be problematic for some. “You think you have every hole blocked and then the tree moves slightly and they all open up again. New ones keep appearing. It’s great in summer but a real drag in this sort of weather.”

FROSTY HOLLOW FREAKERY #2
FROZEN LEECHES BUST HEADS

Three people are confirmed dead and scores injured, some seriously, when frozen two-headed giant leeches began falling out of the trees surrounding Frosty Hollow onto unsuspecting football fans at the final World Cup 36 qualifying match.

Professor of Zoological Engineering at the University of First Creek Falls, rankenstoo, explained to us that the leech’s attraction to the cold appears to have been their downfall. “It didn’t really surprise anyone that so many of them ended up at Frosty Hollow. It’s the coldest place in Errinundera this side of the summit of Mount Ellery. They were waiting in the trees to drop onto the football fans but the cold snap has, well, snap frozen them. I hate to imagine what would have happened if not for their refrigeration. With over 350 of these killers let loose among 60,000 people in a confined space I imagine the death toll might have been in the hundreds.”

People got their first hint that something was amiss when a faint breeze stirred the trees just before the half time whistle. A compact black object about the weight and size of a house brick was dislodged from a tree and landed in one of the aisles, cracking the concrete. Pretty soon the black bricks were raining down steadily. Bostopia fan, Samuel McBride, explained that it was extremely trying for the fans. “We didn’t know what they were, where they were coming from, or which way to go to avoid them. We couldn’t get to the covered sections of the stand so thousands of people piled onto the pitch. Of course, this stopped play for a while but, hey, I got breretond’s autograph. Shikes! He’s big.”

Play was held up until EFA volunteers were satisfied that the last leeches had fallen and, those that had, had been disposed of safely. The three dead people have been identified as laocoon, a senior weather forecaster from the Bureau of Meteorology, and his two young sons isobark and millibark, who were struck by a large clump that had fused together. Doctors have confirmed that the majority of other injuries are fractures and lacerations. Professor rankentoo has admitted that only 353 of the original 512 leeches have been accounted for.

FROSTY HOLLOW FREAKERY #3
POTOROOS QUALIFY FOR THE WORLD CUP

Notwithstanding a break in play caused by descending frozen giant two-headed leeches, today’s World Cup 36 qualifying match against Bostopia was a cracker. In a game of two halves the Potoroos made more of their opportunities to come out 2-1 victors, ensuring them of a place in the Cup proper. Gallant losers, Bostopia, must go to the repechage rounds but are heavily favoured to win through to the Cup.

Local star and substitute midfielder for the Potoroos, tevow, told us after the match that the visitors were unlucky not to come away with a draw. “We dominated the first half – the kid and the destroyer were sensational. But something happened after the leeches fell. We seemed to go into a shell and the Bostopians took control of the game. Our defence managed to keep them out until Aleks Cripps scored in the second half. From then on we were holding on for dear life. Normally we get quite a lift from the Frosty fans but many had gone home and those that were left spent most of their time looking up to see if any more leeches were going to fall out of the trees. Thank goodness for onito. She saved our smoked tofu several times. I tell you what: they are pretty good for a bunch of 17 year olds.”

Leaders
Pedro Rafir: "Networking. It is how Psytronius has grown strong, for our name is now in hundreds of civilizations in either a cursory or clear manner. Our disappearance would be palpable, & that is power."

Jhora Mendica: "Effective communication is never enough for the success of any number larger than one."

The Thryllasian Gatekeeper: "I would say my love. I have used it to overcome thousands of beasts in my time as The Gatekeeper, turning them from viciously... uh... well. Point being, they're much more docile now, & aren't wreaking havoc on civilization for their sustenance."

Sikyos: "My allies from all across the Earth. I am uncertain if I could've rebuilt my city after Prometheus's rampage without them or even defeated the Titan. My gratitude for their help is endless."

Helene Pirun: "Power? Sekka Verndara. He's the very personification of it, if you asked me! I have a lot to thank him for, like the development of my island home & helping prevent us from collapsing after Elana's death. I wonder how differently our island would have gone had she not died..."

Tenebrae Verndara: "Uh... cheese? No, just kidding. But anyway, I've had... a lot of regrets in my life. I've been pretty powerless for my childhood & whatnot... but I guess I'd say it might be my killing ability. What else do you expect me to say? It's in my title. I've hardly known much else."

Muria Verndara: "Faith. More than in a religious context. Faith in my master, that he would teach me well. Faith in my brother, that he would still be alive in some way. Faith in myself, that I would be able to take care of my clients' children after that cursed wedding. But sometimes, I feel like my faith is crumbling.
Elaborate. How is your power crumbling?
Muria Verndara: "As I'm sure you know, Tenebrae is my brother, & he's that thing now."
Tenebrae Verndara: "Yo." He was best described as a ball of black gas with two similarly-colored tentacles acting as arms.
Muria Verndara: "& as I'm sure you also know, my attempt to flee to another universe ended in far too many deaths. I wonder if the faith I have in myself & my master is well deserved if I can not even save one person. That is what my oceanic faith tells me to do, after all: life is suffering, but we can always help others suffer less."
How is that even remotely related to the ocean?
Muria Verndara: "Currents. They bless some areas with warmer or cooler waters, which in turn provides their own benefits."

Nacre Family
Sakana Nacre: "My shield. It has allowed me to protect Renstar & my family during the Thryllasian Plateau disaster. I know it may seem a bit ridiculous to say something like that is power, but the question's open ended. Intentionally, I'd expect."
Correct, Sakana. Any specific answer, so long as it is justified, I will accept.

Norni Nacre: "Beauty is power... when people can understand it. After all, gold & gems were originally only valuable for their gleam, but in times of strife, I would say that most would abandon them without a second thought if it meant escape."

Huilé Nacre: "Ooh, that's a hard question for someone like me... I don't really think about power much. But thinking back to the Thryllasian Plateau disaster, I'd say selflessness. You can help the world gain so much with just a little bit of kindness. Oh, & the explorer spirit of Valikoto, since they did help create Renstar, & also my husband Sakana. Plus they found the plateau, which is how I met him anyway. Speaking of which, I guess I could consider him power in a way."
Sakana Nacre: "... flirtatious."
Huilé Nacre: "He was as... wordy & eloquent as he is now compared to when we first met. Honestly, I find it adorable."
Sakana Nacre: "Honey..."
Huilé Nacre: "Strong military men always have that subtle weakness." She placed her hand where her ponytail was grouped, at which point Sakana got up & held his hand out to stop her. Her giggle was delightful.

Luír Nacre: "A brave spirit. It is bravery that had led to my now-sunken home's discovery, & it was the bravery of the Dwarves that my family & in-laws escaped without too much damage. I have much respect for the men & women who laid down their lives for me, knowing full well that they could not defeat their enemies. So I have heard, they are stuck in an endless cycle of apocalypse, with the Thryllasian Plateau being one of their battlegrounds."

Kalta/Ori Nacre: "I'd say something about myself, but I'd think that'd be a bit self-centered, right?"
It is of no consequence. Answer honestly & frankly.
Kalta/Ori Nacre: "Well in that case, I'd say bravery. Like, I consider myself a pretty brave person, but I think that's just what happens to a Thryllasian. We don't have luxury. Even in Parfuhmerie or Renstar, I feel like there's this overwhelming sense of poverty. Not in the usual manner, but... I've personally seen it, & it's pretty shocking, especially for a Nacre like me."
I do not see how that seems to relate to bravery?
Kalta/Ori Nacre: "Oh. I guess you're right. Well, I guess I'd say it'd be more accurate to say that I think just willpower is pretty impressive. I've gone into pretty deep caves for some pretty stressful weeks, but I don't think I've gotten even a fraction of what some of these people live in. Huge respect for their ability to just... keep living."

Gesh'rigu
Bo'kan Ko'la: "I think Hekate should count, right? She definitely holds some power down in the Underworld, & I doubt that the pantheons could survive without her making sure that nobody is leaving Tartarus without seeing her first. Or without her letting them out, as she had down to destroy the Thryllasian Plateau... but we don't like talking about that incident."

Ir'a Tar'rama: "Power, huh? I know it sounds pretty vain, but me. I was a chieftain & I saved some Demonic butts several times. & there's my items... I think it's justified that I'd say that I am just a little bit like power."

Ka'tyu Za'v: "Information & diplomacy. But of course I'd say that, since my job is entirely reliant on it. Still, nothing can replace an effective information network... it's how I saved Parfuhmerie those several times."

Ka'ir Bia'yu: "Fashio—"
Li'yu Xoa'yi: "Sis, I was going to say that."
Li'yu Je'vu: "So was I!"
Ka'ir Bia'yu: "Uh, yeah. Just fill in fashion for all of us. After all, a good wardrobe gives a good impression, & a good impression gives you a good initial burst of friendship, information, & looseness. Especially looseness. That's the best part of it."

Ka'ir Azsh'aloth: "As expected, I ought to say knowledge & beauty. I've commissioned hundreds of paintings to show off Parfuhmerie's splendor, & spent just as much money trying to fill up my library, which I'm still filling. I don't know why any civilization would dare try to suppress either. Both do have a truth that might sometimes sting, but if a regime has to lie about its abhorrent actions to remain in power, then they are not fit for government at all."

Fa'l-Asandrau: "People always say that I saved the Demon Empire by warning the guards that fateful day, but I really don't say that's what I think power is. I think a little bit of power is found in everyone, & that when we all work together, that's how it transitions from a poke to a punch."
What makes you believe this?
Fa'l-Asandrau: "When a group of us fisherfolk haul in a big catch, we all have to work together. We can't just expect only one person to carry it all in."

"Living Doll Assassin" Ellen Laraus: "Happiness. I may be an assassin & a Doll, but I can see that happiness is one of the most important things for anyone. It's no coincidence that my specialty is in performance & entertainment. Do I want to leave my job as an assassin? That I'm neutral on... But anyway, I'm happy performing because I know that I'm making others happy."

"Portrait" Jelloucroix Dejani: "Artwork. Furniture. Right?"
Do not worry so much. Any specific answer, so long as it is justified, I will accept.

"The Passing Memory" Notburga Jégado: "What's power to me... Control over my own life & my own destiny. Others' would be nice too, but I know that's too impractical."
Could you elaborate?
"The Passing Memory" Notburga Jégado: "Well, it's probably motivated by my husband's death. I'll freely admit now I can be a bit prideful. I can't bear not having control, & when he & our kids were killed, I just felt... so powerless over my fate. I had to take it out on someone, but who? Because I stayed alive for so long, I grew bitter at the murderer, & the rest is current history. I killed them while acting as their maid, but I don't regret it much."

"Honorable Servant" Si'ma Ka'ru: "Nothing. I associate nothing physical with power. Everything is as it is, but it is how we use it that shows power. Even a simple magically-powered gun can have as much effectiveness as the most advanced in a hand like mine."

"Creeping Tortellini" Monte Dred: "A strange question for someone like me. I suppose fear, the way it grips & surges & swirls over anyone with emotions, can count. It has a certain undeniable power to it."

"The Bad Name" Akō Frollo: "It sounds dumb, I know, but combat prowess. I'm a battle guy. Of course I would say it."
Why do you think you love combat so much? Isn't it terrible?
"The Bad Name" Akō Frollo: "That's war. War is the terrible one, but casual spars & small duels aren't as bad. I'll admit that sometimes I wonder what will happen to the families of the men I slaughter, but as an assassin I know I ought to keep that side of me concealed. As is necessary, & as requested of all of us... but I'd say I only glorify battle in memory of my clan. It had all been my fault, & this is how I'll make it up to them!"

"Lorelei" Mawsy Greed: "Really now? Fine, I'll say spaghetti."
Think about it. What in your life has played the most influence? That thing would have plenty of power.
"Lorelei" Mawsy Greed: "Pain. It's really mesmerizing, but I won't tell you anything more!"
Fine then. I can see that you will not be cooperative, although if I may be frank your lack of opinion is not useful for why I am interviewing you.

"Relay" D'aillisioux: "U-uh... There's a lot of p-people who I think are powerful."
Go on. You are safe here.
"Relay" D'aillisioux: "Dana... Roger... Sekka... Th-there's so many to name!"
& how do they relate to power?
"Relay" D'aillisioux: "They-they're just so perfect in everything that they do. I really wish that I-I could be more like them... Then maybe I wouldn't have to d-deal with him..."
Who is this him?
"Relay" D'aillisioux: "I-I'm not... I don't... I don't want t-to talk about it. Sorry, I just can't — I'm just too sc-scared! If I could just... If I could just be more perfect, maybe I wouldn't have to need someone n-next to me in case I get attacked by him a-again."
I see.

"Dark Comedy" Pâté Chaud: "I'd say us assassins can definitely represent power. Most of us come from pretty unfortunate backgrounds, D'aillisioux especially, if his constant nightmares & anxiety are any indication. It's pretty impressive that we've come this far from wherever we were at the bottom, although I don't think I've learned all there is to everyone. I have a feeling Mawsy has something more to him... same with D'aillisioux. But that's beside the point."
"Lorelei" Mawsy Greed: "I'm right here you li—"
No cursing.
"Relay" D'aillisioux: "I-I don't think that anyone wou-would want to hear it, anyway."
"Dark Comedy" Pâté Chaud: "I would."
"Relay" D'aillisioux: "N-no, it's just that i-it was... too terrible. It wouldn't b-be safe if you h-heard it all."
"Dark Comedy" Pâté Chaud: "What do you mean?"
"Relay" D'aillisioux: "I don't... it's... I-I'd think you'd s-see him too. He's a— he's a bad man. I don't want to ma-make myself even more annoying to you guys..."

"Luminous Welder" Virginia Pilar: "Faith is power. It is with faith that I have united the Pallouré to fight for our rights, & for that I always give my thanks to God for His help."
Why are you Christian? You are a Pallouré.
"Luminous Welder" Virginia Pilar: "A missionary of Christ had saved me from the despair & discrimination I would have faced as a Pallouré. He taught me skills that I would not have normally learned, & to always fight for what I believe in, & I believe in equal treatment for my race. We are not like the Jötnar, yet that is what we are associated with, all because of one of our parents being a member of that supposedly accursed race."

One

The cutting bank obscured the view of the salt marsh plains as I followed the path. It was a peaceful afternoon in early summer and with a good two mile hike from the transit station ahead of me, I saw no need to rush.

Here and there birds of one kind of another sang in haunting, piping chorus. Scudding across the cloudless sky, some great hawk lulled them into silence. Overgrowth clung to the cutting, though I'd learned after the first attempt that the banks were steeper and more treacherous than they looked. The five minute scramble had not been worth the view, even though the sight had confirmed what I could smell on the breeze. I was nearly at the ocean, and nearly at my destination.

The cutting had been planned as an extension of a rail line, back when Iseleir was to be the next big seaside resort. A set of communal buildings had been constructed, half a train station and even a hotel for foreigners unwilling to stay in one of the many projected communes before the project had been abandoned. The town was technically abandoned now – only one small commune remained conducting archaeological research. Pouring over the artefacts unique to this little jutting peninsula.

The doctor had explained some of the history of the place to me over a patchy comms link. The area had been settled by the Paraphanosians some three hundred years ago when it was renamed Veissbay. Veissbay itself had been abandoned some hundred years later as the pearl industry that supported the town's economy collapsed almost overnight.

There were tales associated with the place. Most of Veissbay had found itself under the sea as coastal erosion took hold. It was said that on stormy nights, you could still make out the sound of bells from beneath the waters. Divers had photographed a singularly unusual chapel steeple replete with carved gargoyles found nowhere else in Caracasus. It was primarily for this reason that the good doctor had applied for a commune license and had taken six of his students out to the twice abandoned town.

Iseleir loomed into existence over the cutting bank. First the hotel, then the red roofed station. Half completed, glassless windows gazed out blind across the ocean. Raw concrete showing like a high tide mark, indicating the point at which the construction crews had abandoned the place to the elements. A straggly sapling had sprouted out from the eaves of the station as nature slowly reclaimed the place.

The doctor was on hand to greet me, standing at the station as if waiting for the nine thirty train to arrive. He looked young for his age, a fire in his eyes that only those truly passionate about their occupation have as he showed me the expanse of the town, pointing with one hand to the bay where the remains of the old town lay drowned.

He was striking. Handsome even. If it had not been for the fact that at the world weary age of twenty five I had sworn off relationships I might have been taken with him. As it was I focused on the more dominant intrusion. The smell.

It was not unpleasant, but it was all pervasive. It smelt something like rotten wood, and something like seaweed. The doctor must have noticed my distraction as he felt the need to explain the smell.

“Rotting wood most likely. Veissbay was a harbour of sorts. There was a trading post set up for the export of pearls. After the great storm, the town did not have the money to dredge the wrecked ships from the bay, so they were left. Back when Iseleir was still being built, we had another storm. They think that might be what uncovered the rotting timber – and luckily for us the old town!”
I found my lodging well enough, though I was surprised that none of the others had come to meet me. The doctor mentioned something about an interesting trench some three miles north that was in danger from the coming high tide. Apparently they had decided to camp out for a couple of days to better catalogue the finds. It would be at the trench, the doctor said, that I would be able to contribute the most – after I had found my feet.

The commune had officially occupied the smaller eastern part of the hotel – the part that had been fully constructed before its abandonment. A small solar plant occupied the rooftop, rigged in place by the commune. Dinner was held in what had been a lobby. Scrubbed wooden benches over old carpet. The food was uniformly bad. I did not know if it was the ever present smell clouding my ability to taste anything, or the surplus armed forces rations themselves but I ate little.

The silence at dinner bothered me. The doctor stated that he would be working through the evening, and of course the other commune members were busy at the trench. It is something unnatural for us I think to eat alone. From my very earliest memories, through to work placements and university I have been surrounded by my friends and family at meal times. Even at my most secluded, when I would drop everything to focus on my work, I have found the time to eat with others. It makes us, and its removal is unnerving in a way I cannot fully explain.

Two

I didn't sleep well, though I seldom do in new places. The light, the air – everything feels wrong. Waking at five, I opened my comms device and flipped through some of the orientation material the doctor had sent me.

The church itself was a point of interest, as was the religion that the Paraphonians had bought to this small peninsula. Caracasusian history is confused in places, written as it was by the colonial powers that conquered it. A common theme in the reinvention is that of an oppressive religious missionary movement destroying the animalistic religious practises that existed previously. Here on the peninsula there was no exception. The semi nomadic peoples had their gods and goddesses consigned to the flames. Their rituals forbidden and their names taken from them. Christenings took place, and in a story repeated across the entire subcontinent, the new generations had more or less forgotten the old ways.

In that the missionaries that settled here were more or less identical to any other area of Caracasus. There were rumours that they practised cannibalism, but you'd find these up and down the province. A confusion surrounding their religious practises and transubstantiation combined with a revulsion held by the nomadic peoples for cannibalistic rites.

Where they differed was, in the words of the doctor, their iconography and their texts. The statue known only as “The Fisher of Men” had received a small amount of fame from those in the field. Carved from some form of soapstone, it depicted a figure holding a net and trident, into which smaller figures fell. Depending on how the light fell on the statuette, it was either emptying the net onto the sand, or scooping up more tiny figures for the net. There was something unnerving about it. The sculptor had rushed details on the statuette, giving the figure a strangely flattened face, but had somehow given it a movement and purpose of its own. The lusture of the stone created an almost pearlescent sheen.

The sun had risen fully by the time I made my way downstairs, cutting through the windows of the hallway. I had passed the doctor's door and from the snores I heard it was clear he was not yet up, but I heard movement in the cafeteria below.

One of the commune members was busy loading up a large framed rucksack with boxes of food. She glanced in my direction and pushed a long fringe from her face. Large, dark circles lined her eyes. Smiled, weakly.

“Hi. I'm Dee. You are?”

I introduced myself and explained why I was here. She nodded, stifling a yawn. It was good, she said, that they'd have an extra hand. They'd uncovered part of what they thought might be a mosaic floor for a chapel or other building. I said that I'd be walking out to the site of the dig that afternoon. She nodded, half hearing.

“So you're joining us for the dig then? I'm Dee.”

I stood back a little, nonplussed. I mentioned that she'd told me that already, and that I'd already explained why I was joining. She nodded, distracted.

“Well then, it'll be good to see you over there.”

When the doctor finally woke, he took me on a tour of the town. There was very little to see – though he delighted in pointing out the large, stone buildings on the outskirts. Sand had piled up across the weathered wooden doors, barring our entry though signs indicated that these were planned communal goods depots.

They were, apparently, all that was left of the older Veissbay settlement. The doctor informed me that the pearl harvest would be stored and sorted in several great warehouses like these – employing some hundred or so locals.

It had been the Order of the Fisher of Men that had bought the trade to the town, he said. The order, an obscure breakaway sect existing in the murky grey areas between canonical religion and heretical splinter group, had made its fortune harvesting pearls elsewhere and had bought the industry to Veissbay. At its height, the enterprise had financed the construction of the now drowned chapel, a schoolhouse and hospital within the town.

The great storm had put pay to that, as the doctor explained. No money could be found to dredge the docks, and the damage to the oyster beds themselves was enough that the industry eventually died, leaving the town to fend for itself. Eventually the sea had claimed it.

The doctor walked back to prepare for our excursion. We were to join the others at the trench. I stood a while in the sand blown courtyard, watching gulls circle overhead. Far in the distance, I imagined I could hear bells, calling back memories of the night just gone and something faint just upon the edge of hearing.

I shivered, in spite of the heat, and returned to my lodgings to pack.

Three

The hike began just after lunch. Dee had headed back earlier, no doubt eager to get back to the trench. This walk, making our own path through the salt marsh, was slower going and less pleasant. Clouds of biting, stinging insects descended on us to feast, in spite of the spray I applied every time we stopped to rest. Exposed areas of skin itched with dozens of angry red bites.

Here and there a wooden post marked some long forgotten path. Broken pottery underfoot – the doctor paused to scoop some into a clear plastic container, jotting down with fastidious handwriting the exact location of each find.

He remained more or less silent, no doubt lost in thought, throughout most of the journey. The crashing of waves gave way to the eerie call of marshland birds as the path snaked away from the sea, then back again to a barren cove. Here the doctor spoke, urging caution. It would not be safe to travel on the beach, even though it appeared to be a short cut. The tide was coming in and this far from civilization we could easily find ourselves stranded.

The wind blown sand got everywhere, into my pockets, my hair and my lunch. Gritty under my teeth, sharp pain as I bit down. I washed my mouth with canteen water, tasting blood.

Clouds scudded across the sky and a chill wind picked up as we neared the trench. It was getting late – even with the longer summer days in our favour. We still had a good two hours worth of digging before dusk so I set about one of the arms of the trench.

Behind us, an outcrop of milky white rock formed a natural barrier to the sea. Curving slightly round, submerged in places and open in others, the acoustics of the natural bay gave a certain crashing roar to the waves as they broke. It sounded louder, more urgent, than the cresting waves showed.

A mosaic floor was being uncovered, inch by inch. My fellow diggers seemed to be as sleep deprived and listless as Dee was – each had greeted me warmly enough, and each had the same, slightly listing speech. Sentences would fragment, half formed in their mouths and distracted, they would turn to look once more at the mosaic in the trench.

I knew the feeling well enough. An important excavation occupied everybody. It became a quest, a game – something to be uncovered. Like a good book, each turn of the page, every trowel load of soil revealed a new secret, a new path. No wonder they had gone without sleep.

The patterns I uncovered, first with trowel, then brush, then ionised water, were as intricate as the others. In places tiles had fallen loose, but the overall picture remained. Depictions of sea life were interwoven with images of harvest and worship. Figures at prayer watched over by those behemoths of the sea – by whales and sharks, fishes and fishing boats.

It was hypnotic, in a way. The natural curve of a seashell depicted in lapis lazuli led the eye as if by chance to a scene of worship in a small chapel. The crest of a whale fin to a whaling boat, harpoons poised and ready – as if frozen in time.

I had not noticed the dying light until I could barely make out my hands in front of me. The doctor called it an evening and we retreated to eat in silence. I returned to my tent, meaning to read for a while. As it was, I'd barely opened my comms device before I fell into a deep sleep.

Four

I cannot say for certain exactly how much of that night happened, and how much is a product of my own fear and mortal terror.

I woke to the smell of fire, and as my eyes became accustomed to the gloom. Some part of me stopped myself from flipping on the light on my comms device. I do not know to this day whether or not that instinct saved my life.

I slowly unzipped the tent and peered out into the gloom. On the beach, a great fire burned. The smell of salt soaked driftwood blew inland, and the flames crackled green as the salt weathered wood burned. Around the fire, five figures stood, gazing out to the rocky cove.

In the moonlight, the rocks gleamed with a sickly pale glow. I could hear chanting, low and urgent, rolling with the spray. Between the fire and the sea, a figure that could only be the doctor paced, striding up and down into the surf. Around his neck the fire caught a heavy silver crucifix. In the glow, it burned orange.

Whatever ritual they were taking part in abruptly halted. All apart from the surf was quiet and it seemed my breathing should have carried out miles across the sea. The figures as one looked towards the rocky outcrop as if waiting.

Something darkened the sickly white glow of the rocks. A movement like oil on water, sliding through the cracked rocks and pouring up over into the bay. Like a trick of shadow the darkness took shape. For all the world it appeared to me to be some giant hand, replete with stubby, broken nails.

Displaced water roared and pushed out over the rocks, drowning them momentarily as the creature emerged. Cascading water, it appeared to stand a good twelve foot at its hunched shoulders. Its head flattened strangely, with no visible nose. A crest appeared and dissapeared in the gloom, running the length of what must have been the creature's spine.

I could not, would not, accept this creature's existence. It must be some dream, some trick of perception. If it were real, it must be the night playing tricks. Some diver pulling himself or herself up out of the surf – a trick of perception making them seem to stand as tall as a house.

It was fortunate that the doctor's voice carried in my direction. He spoke only two words, yet these were more than enough to spur me to action.

“Fetch him!”

His acolytes branched off into two groups, heading for my tent.

I cannot remember the flight from the beach, save that I hid from them for several hours in a ditch. I remember running, I remember trying to catch sight of the shore and the wooden markers and make my way back, somehow, to the track I'd taken to the deserted town.

I was lucky. Beyond lucky really. I had collapsed, exhausted, by what I thought to be the path and woke up to a pair of concerned faces. Eventually, after they had assured me they meant no harm, I relented and allowed them to take me to their outpost. Wilderness rangers on patrol for smugglers. With only a handful working an area approximately a hundred square miles, I cannot even think about how fortunate I was that they discovered me.

I am getting better now. Internal Security took my comms device and reviewed all my communications with the strange commune. A commune did exist some ten years previously that conducted an archeological dig near the abandoned town of Iseleir, but due to lack of interest the digs were abandoned five years previous. What I had found out and what the doctor had told me was more or less true. There was an earlier settlement named Viessbay, and the Order of the Fisher of Men certainly existed and played a part in the town's development. Beyond that, nothing can be confirmed. The doctor I met and his commune, they assure me, was a fabrication. They tell me that there are more than a few smuggling operations running from the peninsula, and that it is likely I encountered one of them. For all their searching, they have not been able to uncover even a fragment of information beyond that, not even the trench I described to them. The remains of the derelict town remain derelict – with no obvious sign of occupation. They will, they assure me, keep me updated on any developments.

I keep myself busy these days. It is only in my dreams that I cannot fully escape what happened that night. As the doctor gave his orders and as the acolytes descended upon my tent, the thing standing on the rocks turned to gaze at me. I remember it opened its great eyes, both the size of dinner plates, to regard me. Eyes white as pearls.